


Reparations

by Dacelin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Contains Art and Comics, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Slavery, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:41:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 36
Words: 91,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21872380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin/pseuds/Dacelin
Summary: If Gabriel hadn't contacted Aziraphale, how much longer might he have kept Crowley before things fell apart? What would have been left of Crowley if that had happened? What if Heaven discovered the truth of what Gabriel was doing? What would they do with Gabriel's broken demon?A lengthy alternative ending to dreamsofspike's Reposessions.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 2105
Kudos: 1226
Collections: Good  but with mature themes, Good Omens (Complete works), Repossession and Repo-verse Works, Tip Top Stories





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Repossession](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19710115) by [dreamsofspike](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this happened.
> 
> If you're a reader of my other works, I mentioned reading _Repossession_ interrupted my writing because I couldn't get it out of my head. I thought I'd just put some ideas down... and wrote a whole novel. I have a _problem_. Dreamsofspike was incredibly encouraging when I showed this off, so you guys get to enjoy the results.
> 
> This is an alternative ending to _Repossession_. In this, Gabriel never got around to contacting Aziraphale, (for reasons which will become apparent later) and Crowley was forced to spend quite a bit longer in Heaven. This is the fallout.
> 
> There are several more Archangels in this story. All other angel and demon names are taken from Madeleine L'Engle's _Many Waters_ , because I'm bad at naming characters.
> 
> The tags are a bit intense, but most of this is post-trauma. There are some flashbacks which get kind of violent, but the non-con stuff is largely skimmed over - just my personal writing preference. I'll tag accordingly in the notes.
> 
> Thanks so much for Dreamsofspike for reading and assisting with this! And now, please enjoy _Reparations_.

Crowley knelt, forehead pressed to the floor, waiting for Gabriel.

It had been long – much longer than Gabriel usually left him alone. But Crowley wouldn’t dare move. This was how Master wanted to find him, this was how he’d be found.

And Gabriel didn’t always use the door.

It had been long enough for Crowley to begin to lilt. His dislocated left wing lay half-extended. He leaned away from his right side, trying to take some pressure off the broken ribs. There wasn’t anything to be done about the broken ankle. But it had stopped hurting unless he moved. 

His head pounded with the 04 collar setting, and he was a little grateful for it. The steady pain was making it hard to think. If he didn’t think, he wouldn’t panic.

Things had been somewhat easier for him since the second test – the one which hadn’t involved any questions – the one he’d passed. Gabriel had brought him back to the warm room with the soft bed afterwards. 

“This is your last chance,” the Archangel had rumbled as he’d gripped Crowley by the hair. “Fail a test again and I’ll take away anything not useful to me…” His other hand trailed meaningfully across Crowley’s eyes. “…I’ll string you up and visit when I feel like using this…” His hand dropped to squeeze Crowley where he was still sore from the last violation. “The rest of the time you’ll be alone. Forgotten. Discarded in the darkness like you deserve. Am I clear?”

Crowley had wept assurances of obedience until Gabriel dropped him and permitted Crowley to fawn at his feet and whisper his thanks for the Archangel’s mercy.

And Gabriel _had_ been merciful. Giving him the warm room again. And the bed! Crowley didn’t dare stay in his shelter for long; sleep was still mostly forbidden. He’d allow himself an hour or two in his little sanctuary after Gabriel was done with him. Then he’d crawl to his knees and wait whatever span of hours or days passed before Gabriel deemed him worthy of his attention. 

He no longer dreamed of Earth. He no longer allowed himself to think of things which had once been so precious to him. That had been forgotten. There was nothing but Gabriel. Sometimes he thought his life on Earth had been nothing but a dream. That his reality since the Fall had been this – a slave of the only being who showed him a flicker of kindness.

He lived for those beautiful seconds of kindness. Those were what he dreamed of when he was alone. He’d replay Gabriel’s gentle touches. Remember the times the Archangel had abstained from a beating Crowley greatly deserved, or the times Crowley was permitted to lay a hand on his master’s shoe or knee.

His most precious memory had happened a few weeks before.

Gabriel had resumed bringing Crowley to his office after the second test, and Crowley was pathetically grateful for the opportunity to work and show his diligence. Gabriel still took his frustration out on Crowley – which was his right, of course. That was all Crowley was good for. And… sometimes Gabriel petted him afterwards. That almost made it worth it.

This day, nothing bad had happened in the office. Gabriel had been in a calm mood when he returned Crowley to his cell. He’d been relatively gentle as he raped him. Afterwards, he’d sat on the edge of the bed, slowly running his hand up and down Crowley’s back.

The demon had dared to shift enough to touch a tentative hand to the Archangel’s knee – and Gabriel hadn’t pulled away or slapped him! He’d allowed the contact for almost a full minute before rising, kissing Crowley's forehead, and departing without a word.

Crowley had covered his face and wept with gratitude afterwards. He’d hoped… desperately hoped… that this was the start of something kinder. That maybe he’d finally proved good enough, earned enough mercy, that Gabriel would be gentle more often.

Gabriel had continued to test him, train him, and use him, but punishments had come less often. The rules hadn’t changed so erratically. And even the one time Gabriel had strung him up by the wings, he hadn’t tightened them as far as he usually did before raping his slave.

Crowley treasured every minuscule act of mercy and desperately sought to be good enough to earn more. And he’d felt hope. 

Until just days before.

Then all the terror had returned in full force.

Despite knowing it had to have been his fault, despite knowing he deserved it, there was a terrified, confused doubt in the demon’s mind. Because… what had happened didn’t seem to have had anything to do with him. And Gabriel’s ranting… it hadn’t made sense.

But to think that the _Archangel_ was behaving… erratically or improperly… no. Gabriel was always right. Crowley must have deserved… if he could just figure out what he’d done…

He heard a key turn in the lock and whisked his wing into place with a flicker of relief that his master had chosen to use the door. He tucked his chin tighter against his chest, forcing himself to ignore the throbbing holy water burns inside his mouth. 

He was in bad enough shape that Gabriel might consent to heal some of his injuries… although that wasn’t usually a good thing.

He heard the door open, then footsteps – two sets. His insides churned. The only times another angel had entered his cell were when his eyes were taken and before the last test. Had he merited extreme punishment again?

A long silence; then a voice spoke. “Demon. Get up.”

Crowley didn’t move. 

“I said,” growled the voice which was definitely not Gabriel’s, “get up!”

Crowley hunched tighter against the ground. 

“What’s wrong with it?” the voice demanded.

“Maybe it can’t understand you?” a second voice ventured.

Cold dread washed through Crowley. Neither were Gabriel?!

The voices argued together, drawing closer to Crowley. A hand caught him by the wrist and pulled. “I said, _get up!_ ”

Crowley went limp, making no resistance as he was dragged halfway to his feet. The moment the hand released him, he crashed back to the ground and scrambled back into the submissive pose.

The angels ordered him to rise for a while longer, prodding him in the sides with their feet as they circled him. 

Crowley bit his lip to keep from screaming as a foot connected with his broken ribs. 

At last they left. There was no sound of a closing door.

Crowley dared raise his head a hairsbreadth from the floor to look after them.

The door was standing open.

He dropped his head and didn’t move again.

His heart hammered wildly. Was this a test? But why? He’d passed this test before. Gabriel knew he wouldn’t obey other angels. He knew Crowley wouldn’t leave any room he’d been left in – with or without a locked door. Why was he being tested?

Unless the rules had changed. Unless Gabriel was standing outside the cell growing increasingly furious that Crowley was failing to obey.

Should he move? No. Best to stick with the known rules until he was told otherwise.

A long stretch of time passed. Twice, angels came in. They spoke softly to each other. Crowley was careful not to listen.

A stretch of silence. Then someone else entered the room.

Crowley didn’t look up at the sound of slow steps circling him. _Please let it be Gabriel. Please let it be Gabriel_ … he chanted in his mind. Even a backhand and the furious roaring of the Archangel would be welcome. At least pain made sense.

A hand closed around his wrist, and Crowley knew at once that it wasn’t Gabriel. He didn’t resist as his hand was maneuvered behind his back and left resting just above his brand. Even when the angel’s touch vanished, Crowley didn’t lower his hand back to the floor.

His other hand was drawn back to join the first. There was a rattle. Shackles clicked shut around his wrists.

A flicker of relief washed through him. Chains took away his opportunities to make decisions or fail orders. Restraints might make this confusion simpler.

The angel put a hand on his chest and pushed him upright. Crowley automatically shifted to a proper kneeling pose. He didn’t flinch as the angel drew Crowley’s wings forward and chained them together by the rings in the second joints. His wings stuck behind him at awkward angles, and his left wing screamed with protest at being moved. Crowley scrunched his eyes tighter closed, bit his lip until it bled, and wished for Gabriel to hurry up and appear.

The angel slid a chain between the collar and Crowley’s neck. It cinched around the metal with a scraping noise which made Crowley’s shuddering increase. He’d allowed this angel to manipulate his body since Gabriel had permitted others to do such a thing before. But leashed like this – what if the angel intended to drag him from the cell?

Nothing so crude. The angel simply rested a hand on Crowley’s shoulder and brought them elsewhere.

Crowley tried to sink his head to the floor, but the chain held him securely upright. 

“Look straight ahead,” the angel said softly. “And open your eyes.”

Crowley lifted his head automatically. Obedience was too ingrained in him. But he couldn’t! He couldn’t obey anyone unless Gabriel ordered it! 

But this angel holding him by the neck – what if he became angry? Surely, he wouldn’t do anything nearly as painful as what Gabriel would do if Crowley disobeyed. But fear of immediate pain was beginning to outweigh the terror of future pain. He cracked his eyes open just a fraction.

Gabriel was right in front of him.

Crowley squeaked, clamping his eyes shut and dropping his head. He waited for the blow. For the flare of the collar. For Gabriel to speak his condemnation.

Nothing happened.

Through his terror, the realization of what he’d seen began to filter into his mind. Was it possible…? No… No, it couldn’t… could it? He dared crack his eyes open and look again.

Gabriel was still there – lying flat on his back. His suit was saturated in blood – and for once it wasn’t Crowley’s. It was concentrated on Gabriel’s chest. Concentrated and matted in the torn fabric as if… as if…

…Gabriel was dead.

The realization made him recoil – little distance as he could with the angel holding him upright. He hung off the tether, gasping helplessly. No. No, it couldn’t be real.

Over and over he dared open his eyes long enough for a glimpse before closing them again. His confusion didn’t diminish, but the reality of the situation slowly grew stronger. Gabriel was… was truly dead.

He didn’t know how long he dared look. He didn’t know how long he might have gone on that way. But such choices weren’t his to make.

“You will come with me,” the angel said softly at last.

“Yes, Master,” Crowley breathed automatically.

Immediately his heart seized with icy terror that he’d dared speak _that word_ to anyone other than Gabriel. But it was true… wasn’t it? Gabriel was dead. This angel held his leash. He must be Crowley’s new master.

There was a long silence; then the angel twitched the leash gently. “Stand up.”

Crowley obeyed. His burned feet and damaged ankle would have made it difficult alone, and the shackled wings and hands made the simple order arduous. Still, he forced himself to respond as swiftly as possible. Disobedience would result in something worse.

The angel walked slowly, tugging Crowley to follow behind. The demon limped hurriedly in his wake.

Crowley had no idea where in Heaven they were. Dazed with too much pain and confusion, he barely looked at the halls they passed. He just hoped they’d reach his cell before he collapsed. 

The angel paused to open a door and led Crowley inside.

They entered somewhere which looked like a sitting room. Several couches and easy chairs sat together on the left. Beyond that was a hall and another door. On the right was a desk of aged wood, stacks of work piled on its surface and the floor around. Crowley dimly identified lamps, bookshelves, and vaguely impressionistic artwork. Straight ahead was an alcove and a single bed.

The angel dropped the leash and gave Crowley a small push toward the bed. “Go lie down. I’ll attend to you shortly.” He vanished back out the door.

Crowley’s ankle gave out before he reached the bed. He crawled the rest of the way and lay down on the floor beside it. It wasn’t terror of inevitable rape, which huddling on the floor wouldn't prevent anyway. He just couldn’t find the strength to stand long enough to reach the mattress. 

There was no easy way to lie down with his wings pulled forward and his arms behind him. He lay at last on his right side, irritating his broken ribs instead of his dislocated wing.

The pain did not keep the absolute panic from washing through him.

Gabriel couldn’t possibly be dead. He was sure of that now. This was a test. 

And he’d absolutely failed. 

He’d allowed a stranger to take him from his cell. He’d obeyed a stranger’s orders. He’d looked at his master without permission. He’d called someone besides Gabriel ‘master’. And now he was in a strange room while Gabriel was probably storming toward his cell to give him a worse beating than anything he’d experienced before.

He seriously debated trying to crawl his way back to his cell. At least he might prove he knew he’d done wrong and was _trying_ to make it right. It wouldn’t spare him the pain, but it might keep Gabriel from locking him away forever. But he’d certainly be punished worse if Gabriel was on his way _here_ and found him attempting what would certainly look like an escape. 

In the end, he fell back on the only thing he knew. He crawled to his knees, put his head to the floor, and waited for his punishment.

He heard the door open and huddled tighter to the ground. Who was it? What would happen? What was he going to suffer?

“Come over here, Crowley,” said the stranger’s voice.

He had to obey. He’d already called the stranger Master. If Gabriel was dead, he had to show this angel his enthusiastic compliance. If Gabriel wasn’t… this wasn’t going to make what Gabriel would do much worse.

He crawled to the voice, halting when he reached worn, sensible shoes. He pressed his head to the ground and waited.

The stranger’s hands went first to his wrists. He unshackled Crowley’s arms and set the chains aside.

Crowley kept his wrists carefully crossed behind his back.

The hands moved to his collar. The leash was removed. The stranger fumbled at the collar’s controls and turned the pain setting down to 01.

Crowley’s breath came out in frightened pants. Whatever happened next, he was supposed to _feel_ it.

“Sit up,” the angel instructed.

Crowley rose to Gabriel’s favored submission pose – shoulders back, head lowered, arms crossed. 

The stranger unfastened his wings. Crowley clamped them tight against his back. Anything to look like a smaller target.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut as he listened to the stranger circle him. There was a scratching of a pen on paper; then a moment of silence.

He resisted flinching as hands came to rest in his hair. Were they going to begin with hair-pulling? 

But the stranger’s movements through his hair felt very… clinical. He pushed the hair aside, examining Crowley’s bloodied head-wound carefully. At last he brushed a soft hand over Crowley’s head, and the pain diminished.

Crowley didn’t dare open his eyes as the angel lifted his chin and turned his head right and left, then up and down, very slowly. 

“Open your mouth.”

Crowley made no resistance as the angel explored along Crowley’s teeth, lips, and tongue. Then a brief wash of grace and the raw ache of the holy water burns melted to nothing. Crowley felt the grace trickle its way down his ravaged throat, soothing the half-healed burns and leaving warmth and assurance in their wake. 

The angel’s hand next passed feather-light over the bruises on Crowley’s face. “Open your eyes,” he instructed.

Crowley obeyed, keeping his gaze carefully downcast. 

A pen bobbed into his line of sight. 

“Follow the pen with your eyes. Don’t move your head.”

Crowley fixed his eyes on the object. His gaze roved left, then right… and he locked eyes with his new master.

Crowley let out a squeak, bit down on his lip to prevent any further outbursts, and threw himself to the ground. Apologies and pleas for mercy hovered on his lips, but he bit them back. 

“Sit back up,” the angel prompted, his tone still calm. “Eye-contact is fine. I need to look at your eyes.”

The reassurance did little to improve Crowley’s state of mind, but orders were orders. He resumed following the motion of the pen, trying hard not to fall apart anytime his eyes met the angel’s.

The pen dropped at last but there was no relief for Crowley. The angel put both hands on the demon’s face and tilted his head upward. He held Crowley’s head caged as he studied his eyes minutely. 

Crowley tried to keep from crying with terror. 

“I’m going to touch your eyes,” the angel said. “Keep your eyelids open. It will be a little uncomfortable, but I need you to hold still and not fight.”

Crowley nodded the barest bob of understanding. He wouldn’t fight. Never! Even if… was the angel about to gouge his eyes out? Was that better or worse than holy water?

Did it matter?

He concentrated all his efforts on keeping his eyes open, fighting every instinct to protect himself from the intrusion. 

Two thumbs pressed lightly upon the surface of his wide eyes. It was strange. It hurt. It stirred so many horrible memories. A dark haze passed through Crowley’s mind. He wondered if he could pass out from sheer terror. 

The touch retreated after what was probably only seconds but felt brutally longer. Crowley rocked forward, blinking madly.

His eyes… his vision… felt… sharper? Clearer? Had the colors changed? His eyes certainly felt stronger – like blinking was no longer a thing he needed to worry about – not with his eyes far closer to serpent than human. But his eyes hadn’t felt particularly serpentine since…

His bewilderment kept him occupied the whole time the angel shifted his collar above its usual resting place and studied the skin beneath. 

The angel scratched on a clipboard for a time; then focused on Crowley once more. “Hold out your arms. Palms down.”

Crowley complied.

The angel looked him over, squeezing lightly to feel the bones. “Turn your palms over.” 

Crowley showed off his burned and scarred hands.

Having examined both sides of his arms, the angel passed his hand over them, eliminating wounds, scars, and calluses. 

“Arms down,” the angel instructed before Crowley could properly register what had happened. “Sit up straight. Chest out.” He crouched down, running his hand over Crowley’s chest without touching him.

Crowley, his head ducked low, watched in awe as his injuries vanished. Not just the recent injuries, but his scars as well. The wounds Gabriel had left to heal which had never quite repaired themselves. And, impossibly, the holy water burns, both old and new, vanished before Crowley’s eyes.

“Your ribs are broken,” the angel murmured as his examination moved to the side. He pressed two fingers against Crowley’s ribcage.

There was a moment of pain as the ribs aligned themselves, then the healing grace sunk deep into the bones. Not just the recent breaks. Crowley gritted his teeth, tense to the strange tingle darting through his ribcage, seeking out old injuries as well as the new. 

This level of healing shouldn’t have been possible.

The angel scratched at his clipboard, oblivious to Crowley’s confusion. “Sit with your legs forward,” he said. “Feet pointed straight up.”

He directed Crowley through flexing his joints for the angel’s observation. Another pass of his hands eliminated damaged bones and skin.

“As you were,” the angel murmured, pacing around behind Crowley.

Crowley returned to his knees and struggled to resist turning around.

“Spread your wings.”

Crowley bit harder on his lip, shuddering as he complied. 

The pain in his left wing vanished at once. He closed his eyes and drank in the soft warmth of healing… 

…right up until he heard a snap of metal and felt a brief rip of pain.

He jerked his head around, staring with utter horror at the bleeding hole in his wing where a metal ring had recently resided. He fought hard not to pull away as the angel passed a hand over the damaged space, restoring the mutilated joints.

Crowley turned back around, head bowed, arms wrapped around his torso, shaking miserably.

Gabriel was going to be _so angry_.

Three more brief flashes of pain, then all wiped away. Crowley barely felt the hovering hand move over his back, was barely aware of anything until the angel spoke.

“Stand up. Spread your legs.”

He obeyed. What other choice did he have? He squeezed his eyes shut and clutched his arms tighter around himself as the bruising on his hips went away, and he felt himself made tight once more.

Maximum pleasure, maximum pain.

He fought down the moan of dread which hovered at his lips.

His legs were weak and rubbery as he stood, feeling so very helpless and exposed. The angel had moved away, now standing at the desk and scratching down notes. Crowley longed to return to his knees, but his orders were to stand, and he didn’t dare move from the awkward pose.

The angel turned away from the desk at last. “Come with me.”

Crowley fell into step behind him, his arms clutched protectively around his stomach.

The angel walked down a short hall and opened the first door they reached. He motioned Crowley forward.

Beyond the door… was a washroom. It would have looked like any nice bathroom on Earth, minus a toilet. A large shower took up a corner. A sink, the counter stocked with ample towels and soaps, sat on the opposite wall.

The angel held a bundle out to Crowley which he took automatically, blinking to see he’d been given clothes – of the light shades preferred by Heaven.

“You can wash here,” the angel said. “Take all the time you want. You should find any products you need. There are scissors under the sink if you’d like to trim your hair. When you’re done, put on the clothes, then go rest on the cot. Any questions?”

Crowley shook his head, his eyes focused solidly on the floor.

He managed to stay upright until the door closed behind him. Then he collapsed, his hands clamped over his mouth to stifle the sobs.

The healing grace mingling with the fear and confusion was too much. He crumpled, his body convulsing. His vision swam with a dark, distorted haze. His throat seized, fighting between hyperventilating and uncontrollable weeping.

When he came to himself, his head lay in a smear of blood and foam. There hadn’t been anything for his stomach to vomit up, but it had certainly tried. He quailed at the sight, hastily making use of a towel to mop up the mess.

How long had he been here? His master had said he could stay as long as he wanted, but how long would his patience really last? He certainly wouldn’t have expected Crowley to indulge in a breakdown. 

Shamefully, he climbed into the shower.

It felt… _divine_.

He washed his wings thoroughly, marveling at the pristine appearance of newly grown feathers – his scars and burns wiped away as if they’d never been.

This wasn’t possible. Holy water burns stayed with the corporation. There was no getting rid of them. Not without receiving a new body. How could this angel…?

He shuddered as he thought of what Gabriel’s reaction would be. The testament of his abuse, wiped clean. He could feel the Archangel gripping him by the back of the neck, pulling him close to whisper, “ _I’ll just have to make more, won’t I?_ ”

And what would Gabriel do with the joint rings gone? At best he’d simply put them back. At worst…

Unless Gabriel was really gone. Which led to so many worse questions.

Mostly… what would his new master do to him? 

He’d cleared away Gabriel’s scars. Erased the torture and rapes. So he could start afresh? That seemed the most likely scenario. That’s what Gabriel would have done. He wouldn’t want to see someone else’s handiwork on his property.

Crowley wiped out the shower when he was finished. Leaving a mess seemed the wrong way to make an impression.

He decided against cutting his hair. The collar might register that as an attack upon himself. And trapping himself in a small room, the collar firing at 08 with an angel of uncertain temper maybe or maybe not within screaming distance sounded like a terrible risk.

He studied his reflection in the mirror. Gabriel had never replaced the one in his cell after he broke it, and it had been a long time since he’d seen himself. He was far paler and thinner than he’d been. Blood loss, terror, and constant suffering hadn’t gone well for him. His hair, wings, and eyes lacked color. Much of his hair had fallen out from stress and Gabriel's tugging. 

He traced his hand down his chest, marveling at the unblemished skin. The impossibility of it was overwhelming. He shouldn’t have ever been free of Gabriel’s touch.

He turned around to study his wings, savoring the look of restored feathers – even if they were dull and more grey than black. 

It was as he was studying his wings that his eyes trailed down his spine. He froze – his blood turning to ice. 

_Impossible_. 

Impossible beyond everything else which had happened. 

He turned away, turned back, looked from every angle. At last he dared run his fingers across his skin, dared prove with touch what his eyes couldn’t believe.

Gabriel’s brand was gone.

His legs collapsed under him again. This time at least he made it to his knees, huddling down in proper submissive form.

Not that that would save him.

Not when Gabriel saw.

Until now he’d clung to hope that he might eventually gain mercy – tried to convince himself his disobedience wasn’t as bad as it seemed, or that Gabriel might like his scars gone – a fresh canvas on which to start anew. 

But the brand…

There was no hope now. Gabriel would _destroy_ him.

Eventually some fleeting rational thought crept through his utter panic. He pushed it aside at first, but the question returned.

 _Why_ was the brand gone?

It couldn’t be healed. It was eternal. Wherever he went, whatever body he wore, he was Gabriel’s and the brand would declare his master’s claim. 

It couldn’t be wiped away like a normal scar – even a holy water scar. It was more than that. It was burned down to his soul. A part of him. A way for Gabriel to control and claim him.

And it was gone.

Did that mean Gabriel was really gone?

Eventually, Crowley found control of his legs. He dressed in the strange, pale clothes of Heaven. He cleaned up the bathroom, put the towels in a pile, and warily opened the door. 

He half expected to find Gabriel waiting to drag him off to whatever perpetual and horrific torture he’d concocted. He also expected to find the strange angel waiting for him, furious at how very long he’d indulged himself.

Neither were true. He was alone. 

He stumbled his way to the bed. He stood staring at it for a long time, trying desperately to work out what to do. 

If the brand was gone, that might mean Gabriel was really gone. Which meant he needed to concentrate all his efforts into pleasing his new master. Complete obedience. Complete submission.

If this bed was like the last time, if he was meant to grow warm and safe in it so his master could tear that safety away, there would be no tearing necessary. Crowley’s resistance was long extinguished. If Master wanted the bed, the bed was his. If Master wanted Crowley to declare his body his master’s property, or lie passive while he was branded again, or wrap himself in blessed chains, he’d do it. Better to obey. Always better to obey.

Disobedience always hurt worse.

He crawled onto the bed and lay down, not bothering with blankets. He wouldn’t be here long. Just a few minutes of comfort before he returned to his knees and prepared to show his new master what an obedient and enthusiastic slave he was.

If Gabriel was gone, this was his only hope.

If Gabriel wasn’t gone, he was past being able to save himself. 

Oddly, there was slight comfort in being doomed. He’d dug himself in so deep that Gabriel would do his absolute worst. Crowley couldn’t make the situation better, but at this point he couldn’t make it worse. He couldn’t go any lower. Might as well enjoy the small comforts of a clean, healed body and a few minutes in a warm bed.

He was wrenched from his thoughts by the door opening. He flung himself to the floor, reaching his knees a moment too late. The door was already open. His master had certainly seen he hadn’t been waiting. He huddled, still and scared, his wings clamped to his sides and his face mashed so hard against the floor that his nose began to bleed.

But the angel didn’t come anywhere near Crowley. He went to the desk, worked briefly without sitting down, crossed the room, and disappeared through the other door. 

Crowley didn’t move. Master could come back at any moment. 

He wouldn’t risk another second of disobedience.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley drowsed fitfully on his knees. He’d grown accustomed to drifting in and out during the long hours he waited for Gabriel. It was easier this time, with his body feeling better and the collar turned down to a merciful 01. He barely felt the collar’s hum.

He came fully awake when the door opened, and his master entered the room. He heard the angel falter, then move about slowly. Crowley remained frozen.

“Crowley,” the angel said at last. “Come with me.”

The demon hadn’t been ordered to stand. He started to crawl forward, but the angel was moving rapidly toward the little hallway. Crowley scrambled to his feet and hastened after.

The angel led him to a workroom. Two long tables held projects of medicinal variety. Shelves stood at the far end, laden with vials and tools. Herbs hung from a string along one wall. Crowley wrinkled his nose appreciatively at the scent.

The angel showed him to a table and opened a box containing long strips of cloth. “The bandages need to be rolled by hand in a very specific way,” he said. “Let me show you.”

He demonstrated the proper tight rolling technique and how to secure them with a clip. Crowley nervously tried to mimic his actions.

It took three tries before his master was satisfied with his effort.

“Work on these,” he said. “I know there are a lot. I’d rather you went slowly and did them right than finish them all, so don’t feel rushed. Put them in this box when you’re done. I’ll come check on you later.” He left.

As soon as he was gone, Crowley sat on the floor and used a bench as his workspace. 

It wasn’t hard. After four or five bandages his hands stopped shaking. It wasn’t exactly interesting work, but the steady task helped soothe his shattered nerves. At least this was something easy to understand. Not like everything else happening.

After an hour or so, the angel returned. He made Crowley re-roll one bandage, but there was no punishment delivered for the failure. He directed Crowley to the bed, told him to rest, and departed again.

Crowley allowed himself a few hours of lying still and trying to soothe his terrified mind before slipping to his knees in anticipation of his master’s return.

The angel arrived eventually. “Hello, Crowley,” he said pleasantly as he set down a bag and took a seat at his desk.

Crowley said nothing. It wasn’t a question. Master would not want to hear his voice. 

Eventually, the angel moved from the desk to the couch. “Crowley. Will you come join me?”

Crowley shuffled forward on hands and knees. Reaching his master, he crouched into the submissive pose.

“I’d like to talk with you,” the angel said calmly. “Do you feel up to answering some questions?”

Crowley broke into a cold sweat. Questions?! There were so many ways to go wrong with questions. 

“Yes, Master,” he whispered, choking out the required words even as he braced himself for pain.

The angel settled back. “I was thinking about Eridu the other day. Did you ever visit there?”

Crowley’s mind raced. Eridu? The city hadn’t existed in 2,000 years at least. Yes, he’d been there – there weren’t many places he hadn’t been. Had he done something terrible there? No… not that he could recall. “Yesss, Massster,” he hissed at last, his voice going sibilant in his confusion and terror.

The angel didn’t seem to notice Crowley’s response. He talked absently about his memories of the city, asking if Crowley had ever met a particular person or tried a particular food. Crowley’s frightened answers of ‘yes’ or ‘no’ didn’t lead to further questioning, just a long pause after each response as if the angel expected Crowley to say more. After a moment, he’d continue with his quiet storytelling.

Crowley listened hungrily. When had he last been allowed to think about anything besides pain?

After a time, the angel told him to return to his bed and rest.

Crowley climbed into the bed and lay bewildered and afraid as the angel returned to his desk and resumed working for another hour. It felt so very wrong to not be on his knees. He wished he could drop to the floor, but Master had ordered the bed, so on the bed he would stay.

Master probably intended to join him when he was done.

But… that didn’t happen. The angel rose at last, pushed the piles on the desk into something resembling order, and crossed the room. 

“Goodnight, Crowley,” he said as he vanished through the door at the far end of the room.

Crowley lay blinking in the silence and emptiness left behind. 

Things weren’t becoming any clearer. Although… one thing had suddenly become apparent.

For the first time in a long time, Crowley knew what time it was.

*****

Day two with his new master was much like the first. Crowley rolled bandages in the morning, rested on the bed for most of the day, and then was called to sit at his master’s feet. Again, the angel did most of the talking, still on the subject of ancient times on Earth. Again, he prompted Crowley without seeming bothered with the demon’s wary silence. At last, the angel departed, and Crowley was left to wait until he was wanted again.

He didn’t sleep – not more than a few uneasy minutes. He’d realized neither of the doors had locks, eliminating those precious seconds of the sound of the key in the lock to pull himself into position before his master entered the room. It meant he had to be ready and waiting on his knees with no pre-warning. He responded accordingly and left the bed even sooner than he might have with Gabriel.

Day three brought change. And to Crowley, all change was terrifying.

The work that morning was different. The angel wanted him to squeeze a salve into glass bottles, cork them, and tie labels around the necks. Crowley liked the smell of the ointment, and it took more concentration than rolling bandages, so he was happier with the work. But the delicate process meant he couldn’t sit on the floor. He stood the whole time, feeling very strange to be off his knees for an extended length. 

Master sent him back to his bed eventually, this time directing Crowley to walk ahead as he checked something in the workroom. 

Nervous to be in front where he didn’t belong, Crowley slowed to look back, his eyes lingering on a bookshelf set just before the hall entrance.

“You’re welcome to read them,” the angel said.

Crowley cowered at being caught looking at something which was none of his business. 

The angel seemed unconcerned. “If you’re feeling a little better, I’m sure sitting around is getting tedious. Feel free to read the books. Just be careful with them.”

Crowley nodded meekly and fled to the bed. He had no intention of touching the books. 

When he was left alone, he cautiously rose and took a tour of the room. He didn’t touch anything, and he certainly kept his eyes averted from anything on the desk, but he familiarized himself with the room’s layout, the paintings on the wall, the things on the shelves. 

He studied the books for a long time. The sight and smell awoke a longing in a hollow place inside him which he didn't dare acknowledge. He retreated to the bed and wallowed in misery and fear until he knew he’d been abed far too long. He forced down his feelings and returned to his proper place on the floor.

The angel called for Crowley to join him by the couches later that evening. Crowley dared lift his head a few inches from the floor when answering questions and didn’t immediately return to crushing his face against the ground. The questions still weren’t about anything significant. Crowley breathed a little easier, even though he still suspected the questions were meant to lull him into complacency before his master asked more dangerous queries. 

“Wouldn’t you be more comfortable on the couch?” the angel asked midway through the session.

Crowley’s heart seized, struck by the mirroring of words to a different and terrible series of events.

“T-that’s okay,” he stammered unthinkingly. 

Immediately, he cursed himself. _Ungrateful whore! If he wants you on the couch, you get on the couch. And then you give him whatever he wants. If he’d rather use the couch than the bed, you lie down and let him do whatever he wants!_

“That's fine,” the angel said calmly, seemingly unaware of the turmoil in his slave’s mind. “You’re welcome to the floor. But if you’d like to sit on the furniture, you’re welcome to do so at any time.” He placidly resumed questions and storytelling.

When he’d been left alone on the fourth day, Crowley did warily sit on the edge of the couch. Nothing bad happened, but he resolved to never be seen there. 

He retreated from the couch to the bookshelf. One title caught his eye. It felt familiar…

He sat on the floor beside the bookshelf and read a chapter. That was all he dared before he put it away, resolving to never be seen touching the books. 

Those resolves lasted one day.

On day five, Master was very late returning.

Alone, bored, and feeling better after five days without being beaten, Crowley read for a while, moving eventually from the floor to the sofa. It really was nice. Like being back at…

The door opened unexpectedly.

Crowley threw himself to the ground, desperate to reach a proper position without a thought for where he was or what he’d been holding. It was only as he heard the thump and skid of the book hitting the ground that he realized how badly he’d failed.

He shook as he listened to the angel’s measured steps. From the corner of his eye, he saw the angel stoop to retrieve the book.

“Crowley,” the angel said, his voice as calm as ever, “please be careful with my books.”

Crowley tried not to sob. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Please… please, I’m sorry.”

The angel held out his book to him. “Just be gentle, please.”

Crowley took the book since that seemed to be expected. He held it clutched to his chest and waited for the blow to fall.

“Why don’t you go lie down?” his master suggested.

It was an order, no matter how it was worded. Crowley crawled his way to the bed.

The angel vanished into the other room. He left the door open, and Crowley supposed he’d return shortly.

Crowley furtively cracked open the book. Master had given it to him, so perhaps reading it… even when Master could see… was acceptable? He desperately wanted to lose himself in the story for a little longer.

The angel went in and out for some time before taking his usual seat on the couch. “Will you come here for a moment?”

Crowley hurriedly put himself at his master’s feet.

“Sit up, please.”

Crowley complied.

The angel reached forward and hooked a hand through the collar.

Crowley went tense, scrunched his eyes closed, and shook. Here it was. He’d be punished for the book. And for sitting on the couch. And for not being ready when Master came. The break from pain was over. 

At least now he’d know what to expect at Master’s hand.

The angel clicked buttons on the collar for well over a minute, often consulting a paper in his hand.

Crowley wondered what was taking so long. The punishment settings were easy – unless Master was doing something worse…

The click from the collar almost scared him out of his skin. What had…?

When he dared open his eyes, it was to witness the angel just setting aside Crowley’s collar… which was no longer attached to the demon’s neck.

The absence of the soft tingle of pain felt so strange, he immediately missed it. And the lack of weight. He’d grown so used to the collar. His neck felt exposed and vulnerable without it.

“I’m sorry I took you away from your book,” the angel said conversationally, as if something monumental hadn’t just happened. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to talk to you tonight. Why don’t you go back to reading?”

“Yes, Master,” Crowley whispered, retreating automatically to his bed. He bent over the book, not understanding a single word which passed before his eyes.

After the angel left for the night, Crowley curled himself into a ball and shook.

The collar was gone. 

_The collar was gone._

Another constant of his existence taken from him. The cell. The brand. Gabriel. The collar. What was going on? 

And what did Master have planned for him? Had he implanted something while he’d healed Crowley? Some new and even worse control device? In his mouth? Or in the holes in his wings before he healed the joints?

Crowley was working his way millimeter by millimeter over his wing when a realization hit him so hard he nearly laughed. It didn’t matter! What would he do if he found the device – if there was one? He couldn’t remove it. He’d be punished if he tried. If Master had something terrible planned, Crowley would learn when Master wished him to know. 

Simple as that. 

He just had to keep doing what he was doing – being as obedient and dutiful a slave as he could be.

Only that would delay Master from using whatever power he held over Crowley.

And even that was sure to not be enough.

*****

Day six started normally. Crowley labored at simple tasks in the workroom. But after Master collected him from there, he didn’t send Crowley to bed.

“If you’re feeling up for a walk, I’d like you to accompany me today.”

Crowley nodded hurriedly. Yes, of course. If Master wanted something, Crowley was ready to provide.

The angel passed a hand over Crowley’s face, healing his perpetually bleeding lip. He gave Crowley a bag to carry and set out from the room.

They walked through an area of Heaven entirely unfamiliar to Crowley. His master moved at a relaxed pace, slowing to speak amiably to angels they passed.

“Hello, Raphael,” an angel at a reception desk said as they approached. “Who’s this?”

The angel gestured back at the demon. “This is Crowley. He’s assisting me today.”

Crowley felt a rush of confusion.

Raphael. An Archangel. A healer by specialty. That might explain how he’d erased the scars. Archangels had power beyond the average angel-stock.

Of course Crowley had been claimed by another Archangel. Any angel was terrifying, but _Archangels_ held a whole new level of alarm. The situation suddenly felt worse.

But there was another thought clamoring for his attention. The way his master had introduced him. First, that he’d introduced him at all. Second, that the other angel hadn’t spoken of him with immediate scorn. Third… he’d been spoken of by name. And as… as an assistant.

Not slave. Not prisoner. Not filth.

It probably didn’t mean anything… but it felt nice.

He nodded meekly as the angel at the desk smiled and told him he was welcome, and while he was there, he had to remember to speak softly, move carefully, and make way for any oncoming patients.

He followed Raphael through a hospital wing.

“Some injuries can’t be healed by any means,” Raphael explained when he saw Crowley covertly staring at a bandaged angel. “Some just take a very long time. We make them as comfortable as we can and try to learn how to help them.”

Crowley nodded, bowed his head lower, and tried not to be seen showing attention to his surroundings.

Raphael moved from room to room, sometimes delivering supplies, sometimes applying a healing touch. Not all the patients were angels, much to Crowley’s bewilderment. But all gave Raphael a look of gratitude when he sat beside them. 

“Demon! Demon!” A battle-scarred angel began to roar at the sight of Crowley. He waved his arms, fighting to leave his bed.

Crowley shrank behind Raphael.

“This is Crowley,” the Archangel said gently. “He’s not here for battle.”

“No?” The warrior looked suspiciously at the demon. “You’re not?”

Crowley emphatically shook his head.

The angel slumped back on his bed. “Pity. I haven’t had a good fight in… two hundred years at least.” His dark eyes caught Crowley’s before the demon could look away. “I was in the Battle of Waterloo, you know. Were you there, demon?”

Crowley shook his head.

“Dark day. Dark, dark day for humans on both sides.”

Raphael tugged the bag from the demon’s hands. “Stay and talk to him,” he said softly. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Crowley didn’t really want to stay with a warrior reminiscing about bygone battles, but what his master ordered he would do. He stood quietly as the angel spoke sadly of the humans he’d failed to protect.

“Rugziel wasn’t there that day,” he said regretfully. “She wasn’t what got me in the end. Do you know her?”

Crowley shook his head, although the name sounded dimly familiar.

“She was my adversary,” the warrior said proudly. “Best adversary I could ask for.”

He launched into tales rambling through thousands of years of history in no particular order. Tales of the wily and fierce demon he’d combated throughout the ages.

He spoke of her with love in his eyes. Not romantic… probably. But clearly respect. What was obvious to Crowley at least was this angel and demon may have fought, but after so long, it had become a pattern and a game. Each would have been disappointed to actually vanquish the other.

“She’s probably running wild now. Without me to stop her. I keep telling them to let me out of this bed. Just to take her down once and for all.” The wistfulness in his voice sounded as if it had nothing to do with fear of the demon.

He jabbed a finger at Crowley. “If you ever see her, you tell her I’m still waiting for a rematch. Tell her Adabiel’s not down yet. I could still beat her with my hands tied behind my back. I did once, you know.” He fell into another rambling story.

By the time Raphael returned, Crowley had forgotten himself enough to ask a question or two to prompt the stories toward actual conclusions instead of meandering nonsense.

“I think you were the highlight of Adabiel’s century,” Raphael remarked as they left the ward.

Crowley found himself smiling tentatively.

“Would you like to come with me again tomorrow?”

Crowley nodded. “Yes, Master,” he murmured, both because that was the correct answer and because, yes, he wanted to go.

Raphael dropped him off in the room with instructions to rest. Crowley found that the bed did feel very welcoming. He had a hard time reminding himself to descend to the floor before Raphael returned.

The evening brought the usual round of questions. They were more open-ended now, with Raphael nudging Crowley toward longer responses. Cautiously, testing every memory to ascertain it didn't tread into forbidden subjects, Crowley responded with tentative memories of his own.

Maybe it was foolish, but six days of nothing bad happening was beginning to stir a flicker of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update schedule for the week will be Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. After this week, I'll decide how I want to alternate days between this and _Beginning of Eternity_.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day brought something else new.

Raphael again brought Crowley to the hospital ward and left him to talk with Adabiel. Then, back to the room for a rest before Raphael came and collected him again.

They walked until reaching a hall which terminated in a drop-off and open land beyond.

“How do your wings feel?” the Archangel asked.

“Fine, Master,” Crowley murmured with a lurch of fear.

“Good enough to try flying?”

Crowley sucked in a breath. It had been a very long time since he’d flown. Modern-day Earth didn’t afford many opportunities.

Raphael spoke gently. “I don’t want you straining yourself, but it would be good exercise. The drop is minimal here, so you’ll only get a few bruises if you fall.”

 _I’ve had much worse than that,_ Crowley thought. 

And he was sure to _get_ worse if he didn’t obey.

“I’ll try, Master,” he whispered.

They both limbered up their wings. Raphael dove off the drop-off and gained the air.

Crowley followed. He struggled to control his weakened wings and to hold them properly, but he managed not to crash or blunder against his master.

They flew for a little while before Raphael called for a halt.

The angel put his wings away as soon as they landed.

Crowley tucked his against his back.

“We’ll try that most days from now on,” the angel said as they walked back to the room. “It’ll get easier with practice and exercise.”

The usual questions happened at the end of the day, the only difference being Crowley cautiously rising as high as his elbows as he spoke.

Raphael didn’t say anything about the breach of behavior, so Crowley hoped that meant it was acceptable.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Raphael said at last.

Crowley wet his lips and spoke without prompting. “Master? Can… can I put my wings away?” 

He cringed to be so presumptuous. Why had he spoken? Why had he acted so against his conditioning? His wings stayed out unless Master wanted them put away. They ached from the flying, but he’d had so much worse. 

He was certainly about to _get_ so much worse.

Raphael was silent.

Crowley flattened himself against the ground and shook.

“You have autonomy over your body,” the angel said at last. “Leaving your wings in or out is your choice.”

Crowley nodded and cringed meekly. He crawled his way to his bed and huddled beneath a blanket.

He didn’t put his wings away. He could hear Gabriel’s silky voice assuring him that giving up the sanctuary of his bed was entirely up to him… and then making sure Crowley made the choice Gabriel wanted.

He wouldn’t give Raphael opportunity to punish him for making the wrong choice.

*****

Day eight was the same as the one before, except they visited a different section of the hospital. Crowley’s presence was acknowledged and dismissed with surprising speed.

He flew a little more successfully that evening.

“I’m going to be gone all day,” Raphael announced the next morning. “You’ll need to stay in here.”

He’d provided work for Crowley to do, with reminders for the demon to pace himself and not feel compelled to finish.

Crowley neither paced himself nor left work undone. His fingers were cramped afterwards, but he felt relief to have eliminated one thing which might lead to punishment.

He exercised his wings in an open space of the room, stretching out the stiffening joints and enjoying the feeling of pain which came from _doing_ something. Pain brought memories, but these were good memories. Of feeling himself borne aloft on a warm wind. A thrill to find his wings still worked after everything done to them. A tentative feeling of… of freedom.

He wrapped his wings back around himself. Best not think of _that_.

He explored the room with a little more confidence, daring to open the door to the room Raphael always entered at night.

It was a bedroom.

Raphael… slept? Every night?

He thought suddenly of Raphael sitting by the bedsides in the hospital, pouring his grace into patient after patient. The Archangel did look tired in the evenings, didn’t he? How often did he exert himself? How often did he collapse?

Crowley wondered with shame how much energy it had taken to repair his scars.

He wasn’t worth it. He was just a demon. Raphael should have rightly left him alone. Maybe those angels deserved his touch, but Crowley’s scars were proof of his vile nature. Blessed things wouldn’t burn him if Crowley wasn’t filth. He’d earned every injury with his corruption. The corruption which seeped out of him and twisted all who came in contact with him. Hadn’t he corrupted and tempted Gabriel? It had been his fault – everything Gabriel had done. And…

He tried to drag himself away from the thoughts, but a new and terrible idea occurred to him. How long before he corrupted Raphael?

The Archangel had been gentle so far, but punishment was inevitable. Crowley was a failure. And when he lay writhing and vulnerable on the ground, would Raphael be tempted? Would he reach out to heal only to slide his fingers lower…

Crowley huddled in a corner and shook.

He didn’t want to be raped, of course. But it wasn’t as if he had a choice in the matter. If his master wanted to use him, that was his right. Maybe Crowley should show some initiative. Offer himself up while Raphael was in a good mood. It might go easier that way.

He wondered how it would be with Raphael. Slow, probably. Raphael seemed to do nothing rapidly. But he was as large and strong as Gabriel – stronger, possibly. Crowley could easily imagine Raphael swinging a whip steadily for an hour – perhaps less creative with where the blow landed than Gabriel, but he wouldn’t exhaust himself with rage. He’d save all his energy for the blows.

He pushed aside the inevitable. Whenever Raphael chose to use him, or abuse him, it wasn’t going to happen _now_. He’d might as well enjoy a little while without the Archangel present.

What was strange, though, was how lonely he felt. Much as he dreaded his master’s power and potential abuse, he found himself going often to the door and listening hopefully for the Archangel’s steady footsteps. He’d been in Raphael’s presence extensively the last few days. Being alone… it hurt. Raphael hadn’t shown him the bursts of physical affection Gabriel had been inclined to display, but he’d been steady and calm, which was far nicer than Gabriel’s mercurial temper.

His pacing led him to the bookshelf. He leaned his head against the books and breathed in the scent, drinking in the peace associated with the aroma without allowing himself to remember _why_.

He went back to his bed and cried himself into a doze.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when he awoke. He crawled to his place on the floor, settled into the proper subservient pose, and waited.

He’d fallen asleep again before he heard the door open.

“Hello, Crowley,” the angel said politely as he entered the room.

Crowley’s heart surged with relief. He wasn’t alone anymore! “Hello, Master,” he murmured, then cringed and waited for the blow.

Raphael didn’t react. “I was on Earth all day,” he said conversationally. “Have you ever been to Mexico?”

Crowley answered to the affirmative, lifting his head cautiously as he listened to Raphael talk about his work while unpacking his bags.

“I brought you something,” the angel said as he headed for the couches.

Crowley wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, but he crawled his way to the sitting area and knelt by the coffee table.

The angel sat on the floor across from him and opened a bag from which wafted scents Crowley hadn’t encountered in years.

“You probably know more about Earth foods than I do,” the Archangel said with a smile in his voice. “I bought a few things. What are they and how are they eaten?”

They unwrapped the Earth foods. Crowley tentatively described tacos and churros. He’d spent some time in Mexico centuries before and visited a few times since then. At Raphael’s prompting, he described the _Dia de los Muertos_ celebrations he’d attended.

“It’s a good thing. Honoring the deceased like that,” the Archangel mused. “We don’t speak of the dead here as we should. Just in bitterness for their loss. Not in rejoicing of their lives.”

Crowley squirmed and hoped this wasn’t leading to Gabriel.

In his bed that night, he touched his stomach and reveled in the now-unusual feeling of having something inside him. Something warm. Something which had filled his mouth with a taste besides blood and fear.

He’d never been much of an eater, but he had enjoyed trying Earth foods. He thought he’d like to try it again. 

Except… _memories._

He pushed those back down where they belonged and tried to find other things to focus upon. He brought up the kinder memories of his time with Gabriel… but those memories didn’t feel so sweet anymore.

It was harder to appreciate the memories of times when Gabriel had abstained from hurting him when he hadn’t been struck in days.

Crowley hugged his arms tighter around himself. He had to be good. He had to be so perfect that Raphael would never want to discard him. If the past week was a true example of Raphael’s nature, Crowley wanted to stay with him forever. A master who didn’t change the rules at random. Who taught him tasks without beating him. Who had been patient so far with Crowley’s lapses. Even if… _when_ … Raphael inevitably picked up the whip, or ordered him to his bed, or branded him, it was better here than with someone else.

He couldn’t imagine anyone being as bad as Gabriel, but what if it had been Michael who’d led him away? And there were other Archangels. Uriel and Raguel and the others. Crowley didn’t know much about them… and the unknown was terrifying.

Yes, better to please Raphael in any way possible than to risk anything else.

His fate had improved.

It would be Crowley’s fault if it got worse.

*****

The two days after Raphael returned from Earth were little different than the past ones, except the flying sessions were quite a bit longer.

On the evening of the eleventh day, Raphael spoke rather cryptically at the end of the questioning session. “Rest up. We have a long flight ahead of us tomorrow.”

That morning, Raphael emerged from his room earlier than usual (Crowley was already on his knees and waiting, of course). He packed a bag, calling Crowley to accompany him as soon as he’d finished.

They walked an unfamiliar hall which terminated at a door. Crowley stepped from the massive office and work complex of Heaven onto the streets of gold and pearl. He was grateful Raphael had given him shoes. 

“The flight will take most of the day,” Raphael warned as he brought out his wings. “I’ve planned some rest stops, but if at any point you start to tire, let me know, and we can land for a while.”

Crowley nodded, knowing full well he wouldn’t dare speak up.

They left the city behind and flew across infinite countryside dotted with towns, forests, and seas. Crowley saw settlements of human souls and beings he couldn’t name. He saw angels of types he’d not glimpsed since his Fall, and vistas which stirred memories long buried.

They stopped often, but the rests weren’t enough for Crowley’s weakened wings, even if he nodded that he was ready anytime Raphael asked. 

But after the third time he nearly fell from the sky, he dared raise his voice. “Master? Please… Can…?”

Raphael glanced at the laboring demon. “Need a rest?” He scanned ahead. “Can you make it to that tree?”

Crowley whimpered an affirmation. He practically collapsed upon landing, his wings shaking with exhaustion. He cowered away from the Archangel, ashamed of his weakness.

Raphael sat down. “This is a lovely spot,” he remarked. “I don’t take the time to relax and observe the view as much as I should.”

With a little prompting, he got Crowley talking about pretty locations on Earth.

The words came more readily to the demon’s lips now. Raphael wanted to hear him talk, so he talked. Whatever pleased his master…

“Do you think you can fly a little more?” Raphael asked, long after Crowley’s wings had stopped shaking. “We’re very close.”

Crowley nodded and wearily gained the air. The long rest had helped. He managed to stay flying until they landed on a cobble pathway leading to a very fine house. 

Behind them, the light was dimming, the sky turning dark purple hues. Crowley would have liked to study it, if he hadn’t been so exhausted. He followed his master into the house and hoped he’d be allowed to rest soon.

Raphael led him upstairs and unlocked a door. He stepped back, gesturing Crowley forward. “This is your room for as long as you stay with me.”

The demon looked warily inside. It was a nice room containing the essentials – bed, dresser, desk, chair, and lamps. There was a window large enough to be an entry point for one who could fly. Everything was relatively plain, but quiet and appealing.

Raphael handed him the key. “This will work on the window and door. They both lock from the inside, but you can lock the room up when you leave if you choose.”

For the first time since the day he’d healed Crowley, the angel laid a hand on the demon’s arm.

“This is my home,” Raphael said softly but with weight to the words. “You are welcome here. You are at home here. You are _safe_ here. No one will harm you within my domain.”

Crowley bent his head low and nodded.

Raphael stepped back. “There’s a washroom down the hall. Feel free to use it. It’s fairly quiet on this story. I stay on the ground floor most of the time. If you’ll come find me later, I can give you a tour, although I’m sure you’ll enjoy exploring on your own. Is there anything I can do for you now?”

Crowley shook his head very quickly.

Raphael nodded. “I’m sure you’re tired, so I’ll leave you to rest. Goodnight, Crowley.”

“Goodnight, Master,” the demon whispered when the angel had nearly disappeared down the hall.

He went into the room.

He locked the door behind him, then hurriedly locked the window as well. The feeling of… of control and autonomy was breathtaking. He stood shivering and staring at the space which was… his.

Not his really, of course. If Raphael wanted, he could take it away. And Crowley would let him. He wouldn’t dare hold anything back. 

The thing was… it didn’t feel the same as when Gabriel had given him a room. That had felt like a trap from the first moment. Crowley had known what the bed was for from the instant he’d laid eyes on it. He’d deluded himself into thinking it was a safe space, but he’d always known Gabriel's intent.

This… this felt different. Like even with the power imbalance, Raphael was trying to give Crowley a place of safety and privacy. The key. The ability to come and go. Raphael hadn’t even entered the room!

He explored the room slowly, opening every drawer. There were clothes in the dresser – still paler than Crowley liked, but nicely made. The desk had a notebook and pencils. A hairbrush sat on the dresser.

He cautiously climbed onto the bed and pulled back the covers. Warily, he removed his shoes and some of his clothes. Even more nervously, he retracted his wings, expecting the rush of pain from his non-existent collar, or for Raphael to descend on him in condemning fury. But nothing happened except his wings immediately began to feel better.

He burrowed into the bed and wrapped the blankets in a cocoon around himself.

It felt safe. It felt _real_.

For the first time in longer than he could remember, Crowley slept.


	4. Chapter 4

The daylight was bright and clear outside the window when Crowley awoke. He lay still, drinking in the golden light and the greenery of the forest beyond. His body ached from the long flight, but besides that, he felt absolutely wonderful. His terrors were stilled for the moment. He felt… peaceful.

He chose fresh clothes and stepped into the hall. He locked his room behind him and padded down the hall in search of the washroom. 

He washed himself, despite it mostly being an unnecessary gesture. He brought out his wings and preened them thoroughly, glad to straighten his feathers properly after the long flight. 

He found scissors and started to trim his hair away from his eyes. With every snip, he felt Gabriel's fingers digging into his scalp and dragging Crowley wherever he pleased. Ruthlessly, he sheared down to his skull, leaving little but spiky bristles in his wake. He looked very unlike himself when he studied his reflection, but he felt a sudden triumphant surge of defiance. See if Gabriel could yank his hair now!

Then he wondered if his new master preferred him with long hair, and his triumph crumbled back to his default level of terror. 

He hurriedly cleaned up the bathroom and cautiously descended the stairs in search of Raphael. 

The Archangel was in a bright and airy sitting room. He reclined with a book, looking entirely at ease. He glanced up as Crowley entered the room.

Crowley threw himself to his knees and pressed his head to the floor.

“Hello, Crowley,” Raphael said warmly. “Are you feeling better?”

“Y… yes, Master,” Crowley whimpered.

“I’m glad. Would you like to see the house?”

“…Yes, Master.”

Raphael said nothing about the hair. Crowley breathed out his relief.

The angel led the way through the large home. He spoke steadily, providing brief descriptions of the room’s purposes and of objects they passed.

There was a library, kitchen, workrooms, an office, sitting rooms, storage rooms, and multiple bedrooms – all of which were unoccupied save Raphael’s. 

They exited the house and toured the grounds. 

Crowley was immediately drawn to the gardens.

“I grow mostly healing herbs. But I have some ornamental pieces as well,” the angel explained. He saw the look on Crowley’s face. “Do you like plants?”

“I love plants,” the demon breathed.

“Maybe you could take care of my gardens.”

Crowley looked up with a rush of pleasure, barely managing to avoid looking the angel in the eyes. “Yes please, Master.”

“Good. I’ll explain what I need, and you can go from there.” 

They continued on, Raphael taking time to point out the gardening shed and well.

“One word of warning,” he said as they entered a courtyard dominated by a fountain. He pointed to the water. “It’s not holy water, but it’s highly concentrated healing water. Please be careful.”

Crowley nodded his obedience. 

“I’m sure you’ll enjoy exploring on your own,” the angel said, turning toward the house. “You can go wherever you’d like. Just please take care with fragile things and wait to touch the plants until I’ve explained their properties to you. We’ll start on that tomorrow. Come find me this evening so we can talk. Until then, enjoy yourself and let me know if you need anything.” He vanished into the house.

The demon turned a slow circle, overwhelmed by the sudden liberty. No walls. No chains. No locks… No orders. He could go anywhere! 

Within reason. And he would do absolutely nothing which might upset Raphael.

He walked among the gardens for a long time. His hands itched to be digging, pruning, and generally threatening the plants, but he held back. He’d wait for instructions. That was sensible even without the fear. And there was plenty to see without touching anything.

He went looking for Raphael when the light began to dim. Again, he went to his knees the moment he entered the room. 

“Are you ready for our talk?” the angel asked pleasantly. “Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

He escorted Crowley to a round kitchen table and pointed him to a chair. Raphael sat across from him.

Crowley shuddered with discomfort to be on the same level as the Archangel. As if they were remotely equals…

The questioning was perfectly routine. Mostly about flying. Crowley admitted he hadn’t done much on Earth in centuries, which led to him explaining about the changes in human technology which had made flying risky.

Raphael was very interested, and rather sad.

“Technology can be beautiful,” he murmured. “It’s tragic it’s so often used for harm.”

Crowley unconsciously touched his neck.

After Raphael left him for the night, Crowley went up to his room and stood at the window a long time. 

There were no stars in Heaven, but the sky swirled with perpetual auroras of dark reds, greens and blues. The sky itself was dark purple. Sometimes bursts of light from universes far removed would flare in the distance. Then the unbroken colors would swallow it again.

For the second night in a row, Crowley slept in relative peace.

*****

Crowley labored in the garden for the better part of the day. 

“You don’t need to finish _everything_ now,” Raphael said when he came to check on him.

“I like doing this,” Crowley insisted. And it was true. This was something he understood. And enjoyed.

“Just don’t strain yourself,” his master cautioned, and left him to do as he pleased.

His feeling of peace lasted right up until evening.

“Now, Crowley,” Raphael said as he took his seat at the table across from the demon. “Tonight, I wonder if we can talk about the day you were abducted.”

Nothing so far had prepared Crowley for those words.

His breath stopped. His blood ran cold. His vision swam. 

Raphael went on, unconcerned. “It happened in the morning, correct?”

“Yessss, Massster,” Crowley whispered, losing control of his consonants in his alarm. He cringed. Gabriel hated it when he sounded snaky. 

Raphael continued on. “You’d just arrived back…?”

The Archangel prompted him with leading questions until Crowley felt there was no hope for it. He described how the angels had grabbed him, subdued his struggles, and collared him.

He did not say where he’d been the night before.

Raphael didn’t ask.

He was fighting down tears by the time he’d reached the point when he’d been driven unconscious.

Raphael continued to question him… but not about what Crowley expected. He asked about the angels. What details did Crowley notice about them? What specifically had they said to him? Had they been armed? Were there more outside?

It was easier to focus on these details than the actual act. Crowley found himself looking at the abduction in more objective terms and speaking steadily.

And then Raphael began to ask about his flat, which Crowley readily described. It hurt him to think of his plants, which had undoubtedly died long ago. He spoke wistfully of them, feeling as if he was giving each one a funeral eulogy.

“I think that’s enough for tonight,” Raphael said when Crowley had run out of plants. “I know what happened will be difficult to talk about. Thank you for being willing to start.” He rose and started to turn away.

“Master!” Crowley surged to his feet, his hands clutched protectively to his chest. He faltered as the Archangel looked back at him. 

Crowley dropped his hands and lowered his head. “I’m… I’m not like that now. I… I know better.”

“Better?” Raphael asked.

“Than to fight. I-I wouldn’t. Ever.” Crowley swallowed hard. “It was… it was wrong to resist Heaven. I ssshouldn’t have.” He cringed. “I’m sssorry.” The words carried no expectation of forgiveness.

There was a long moment of silence before Raphael spoke. “If someone came into my house and assaulted me against my will, I would feel it was my absolute _right_ to fight back.” He waited a moment, then walked away.

Alone in his room, Crowley stood at the window for a long time. “It’s different,” he decided at last. “He’s an angel… He has rights.”

That must have been what Raphael meant. That if Crowley attacked, the Archangel would feel fully justified in fighting back. 

He couldn’t mean _Crowley_ had the right to defend himself. 

He knew better.

He had his first nightmare that night. 

*****

He went to the garden the moment the sky began to lighten. 

He buried himself in the plants, drinking in their scent and touch. He tried threatening one, but the angry words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t bring himself to snarl out words of condemnation and cruelty.

He heard Gabriel’s echo the second he tried.

The quiet was better anyway. 

Eventually, he lay on his back and absorbed the peace of growing things.

Raphael didn’t ask him about the abduction or subsequent events that night. Or the next. Their talks were of quieter things, Raphael now nudging Crowley to take the lead in the storytelling (not with terrible success).

Gabriel haunted Crowley’s nightmares, but the dreams ended with the light. 

In the other part of Heaven, he’d felt Gabriel’s shadow constantly. The walls, the voices, the staring angels – everything kept his mind fixed in the past.

In Raphael’s home, there was far less to trigger his memories. Raphael’s taste in furniture and clothes were far different from Gabriel’s. Most of the floors were wood with rugs, not that beige carpet Crowley had spent so much time staring at while waiting for Gabriel, or being raped by Gabriel, or tested by Gabriel. There was night and day here – not the perpetual dim light of the cell. 

Even things which vaguely stirred memories were different. There were knives in the kitchen and several more in the garden shed. But they weren’t blessed. And they weren’t the same shape. 

Crowley felt a little gratitude that Gabriel had not been terribly creative with the weapons he’d used against his slave. That minimized the things which filled Crowley with terror.

In this place, at least in the daylight, he did feel safe. Relatively. A little. He could concentrate on other things. Things Gabriel hadn’t corrupted in his memories.

And here he could rationalize a little more. Slowly, slowly, _slowly_ put Gabriel’s ghost to rest.

Because Gabriel had to be dead.

He was starting to believe that fact, not because he’d seen the body and not because of the brand, but because of time.

It had been two weeks.

Gabriel was not that patient.

If this was an elaborate plan to give his slave a little liberty and rip it away, Gabriel would have sprung his trap by now. Or at least found a way to remind the demon of the Archangel’s omnipotence. No, Gabriel had plenty of ammunition against him. There was no reason he would have waited this long. And no reason to allow Crowley to be taken this far away from the main buildings of Heaven.

Unless Raphael was in league with him. And one day they’d both descend on him, drag him to a previously unknown basement, and torture him until the end of time.

But… Gabriel didn’t share. There was no chance he’d allow Raphael to touch and heal Crowley.

So, gradually, Crowley began to accept Gabriel’s demise.

He didn’t care about why or how. That the Archangel was gone, that his new master was kinder, was all he cared about. 

He was cautiously losing some fear of Raphael. Relatively. A little. But with a choice of absolute isolation or the Archangel, he chose the potential tormentor who’d yet to harm him.

He kept alert for Raphael, sometimes daring to stay within a room of him, or near enough to watch him through the window.

It was the closest he’d come to approaching willingly.

Raphael coming to find him still caused absolute stress.

It was easier in the garden since he was usually already on his knees. And he’d been trained to keep working while Gabriel came and went from his office, so he didn’t feel compelled to press his face to the dirt every time Raphael walked past.

The house was harder. He didn’t always know when Raphael was coming, and he was often obliged to halt midstride or scramble from a chair to properly kneel.

Raphael never said anything. Raphael never scolded or corrected his posture.

Crowley wondered how badly he’d have to lapse before the Archangel reprimanded him.

He didn’t want to find out. 

*****

“Are you willing to talk about what happened after you were brought to Heaven?” Raphael asked as they sat at the table.

Crowley focused his eyes on the table and mumbled his affirmative.

He’d been braced for this for several days. The break had been nice, but he’d known it was coming, so it didn’t feel like such a blow this time.

He started tentatively with how he’d awakened chained by the collar. How he’d quickly learned what the collar could do.

“Then Ma… G-Gabriel came in…” 

He had to pause to catch his breath after that. Just saying the name…

Raphael didn’t pressure him to continue.

“He had…” Crowley’s voice broke again.

His memory erupted with a sea of red flags. _Don’t think about it, don’t talk about it, it never happened, there was no life before Gabriel!_ His mind screamed its automatic response to any flicker of remembering.

He couldn’t. He couldn’t remember.

He clutched his hands around his head, biting down on his lip until his mouth was flooded with blood. 

He didn’t know long he struggled. Just that when he came around, Raphael had moved his chair and was sitting beside him.

Not touching him. Just… there. 

“May I?” Raphael asked, reaching a hand toward his face.

Crowley nodded.

A pass of the Archangel’s hand, and the blood was gone.

“Thank you,” Crowley whispered.

“You’re welcome.” Raphael watched him for a moment. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

Crowley bit down on his freshly healed lip. “N-no…” He winced at the word he wasn’t allowed to say. “…I’ll tell you.” 

“You can be vague,” Raphael suggested. “Or skip ahead.”

Crowley considered. “They wanted me to confess,” he said at last. “For… things they thought I’d done.” He glanced furtively at Raphael. 

The angel nodded encouragingly. 

Okay. He could manage if he didn’t have to talk about _why_ they’d hurt him.

He limped his way through the initial interrogation, feeling the shame of how poorly he’d behaved back then. He stammered out apologies, assurances that he knew his place now and would never talk back, or fight, or resist. 

He kept his eyes focused on the table, not daring to check his master’s certainly disapproving expression.

He told how Gabriel took over the interrogation and…

“He chained me up by the arms… and… he… had a knife. Blessed.” Crowley began to shake. He bit his lip, stifling back tears and terrors.

“It’s alright to feel your pain,” Raphael said gently. “It’s alright to cry. No one will stop you from feeling. You can weep. You can be angry. Your emotions are real. And valid. And part of you. Let them out. It’s safe.”

Crowley shook. He clasped his arms around his stomach, biting even harder on his lip. He couldn’t cry. Not in front of his master. He couldn’t break. Breaking ended with beatings if it angered Gabriel. Or rape if it didn’t. He shook his head frantically, aware of the spray of blood as he jerked his head.

“Would you like to be alone? To cry? No one will interrupt you in your room. You can be as loud as you’d like here. Or quiet. However you’d like to let it out.”

Crowley glanced up, accidentally meeting the Archangel’s eyes. He dropped his gaze at once, feeling the rush of fresh distress. 

But Raphael only spoke quietly. “Go and cry. You’ll feel better for it.”

It was an order. A very… very strange order. But he had to obey.

He managed to stumble his way to his room and lock the door behind him. 

Then he dropped to his knees and sobbed.

*****

Crowley awoke on the floor, his eyes feeling cracked and dry, and his insides feeling hollow and drained.

He eventually rose and made his way to the washroom.

Standing beneath a hot shower for an extended time seemed to help. 

After a change of clothes, he found his way downstairs.

Raphael was in the library, a half-dozen medical books spread out before him. 

Crowley cautiously crossed the room and sat down at his feet. He didn’t kneel – just leaned against a table leg and hugged his knees to his chest.

Raphael didn’t acknowledge him, and Crowley was grateful for that. He didn’t want to be alone, but he wasn’t sure he could handle conversation. And just being allowed to… to _be_ with the Archangel. To _choose_ to come here. That… was more than he’d had in a long time.

Raphael eventually pushed back from the table. “I thought I’d take a walk,” he said. “You’re welcome to join me. Or stay here if you’d prefer.”

Crowley quivered, then slowly rose with a nod. 

He followed Raphael from the house. The Archangel looked back at him enough times for Crowley to take the hint and hurry forward to walk beside him. 

The air was pleasant – warm with just enough breeze. It wasn’t too dark – the sky was always a little light. The shadows from the forest loomed with more ominous darkness, but Raphael steered them onto an open path leading through fields beyond the immediate grounds. 

Crowley expected the questions to begin again… and was relieved when Raphael showed no inclination to talk.

So different from Gabriel who’d been eager to fill any silence with cruelties and condemnations.

They walked a long circuit. Crowley was breathing far easier by the time they approached the house again. 

Raphael turned to him as they reached the door.

Crowley shrank back, resisting going to his knees.

“Your feelings are valid,” Raphael said in his quiet voice. “You _can_ allow yourself to feel them.”

Crowley wrapped his arms around his torso and stared at the ground.

“Don’t be afraid to cry. You should be allowed to acknowledge your suffering. No one should take that from you.”

Crowley struggled to think of a response. All he could really think was that Raphael had to be wrong, but his master couldn’t be wrong. He managed a small nod.

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

The demon felt an unsteady lurch in his stomach. It wasn’t the first time Raphael had asked, but it was the first time Crowley had registered it as a genuine question. He shook his head hurriedly. “Thank you...” he mumbled after a moment, “…for letting me sit with you.”

He heard the smile in the Archangel’s voice. “You’re welcome anytime.” 

Crowley nodded unsteadily. “Can I... go to bed?”

“Of course. Sleep well, Crowley.”

“Thank you,” he whispered as he crept into the house and hurried up the stairs.

He crawled into bed, cocooning himself in blankets and shivering out his confusion.

It hurt his mind. The duality. Whatever Gabriel said and ordered was right… but Raphael said the contrary. And spoke so… kindly.

As if Crowley _deserved_ …

No. If Master offered scraps to the slave at his feet, that was his benevolence, not anything Crowley was owed. Raphael was just showing him more mercy than…

He shivered and pushed away the unkind thoughts about Gabriel. Those weren’t allowed. Those would surely be discovered and punished. Gabriel had given him exactly what he deserved.

Raphael would see that eventually.

…But it had been nice to be with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week's updates for _Reparations_ will be Monday and Saturday. _Beginning of Eternity_ will probably get Tuesday - Friday, or at least some of those days.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback time! Oh look, Gabriel's here. Warning for all the fun Gabriel brings with him. Although nothing particularly graphic happens this time around.

_Crowley huddled on the cold stone, waiting for Gabriel’s inevitable arrival._

_He was struggling hard to stay conscious. He’d been drifting in and out for a while, barely aware of the cell in his growing delirium. His vision swam toward darkness as he once again started to nod off. He jerked himself awake with a frightened whimper, then dug his nails into his arm in sharp reprimand for daring to make a sound, for daring to sleep._

_Gabriel had winched his wings in their last session. In a sudden burst of variety, the Archangel had pulled out the blessed whip once he’d had Crowley stretched to the limit. The beating had focused initially on Crowley’s legs. Gabriel had taken particular pleasure in trying to catch the soles of Crowley’s feet when his legs jerked at the lash. Crowley’s balance had grown steadily worse, falling forward so that the chains took all his weight – a misery increased when Gabriel shifted the blows higher to properly flay his back and wings._

_Blood loss, pain, and exhaustion had turned Crowley’s world to fever dreams. Reality swirled unsteadily around him. He tried to keep to his knees, certain that, in his agony, he’d be unable to recognize or respond if he heard Gabriel’s approach._

_Despite it all, he did feel the barest hint of hope._

_When the beating was over, when the chains were gone, when Crowley had been transported back to his cell, Gabriel had cupped the side of his face for a moment. “You were a good boy today,” he’d murmured. “I didn’t think you could keep quiet for all of that. Maybe you’re finally learning.”_

_The words had warmed Crowley during his brief moments of coherency after Gabriel left. Was it… was it possible he was getting close to earning a reprieve? Gabriel had shown him some barest flickers of affection lately. Was… he finally learning enough to satisfy his exacting master?_

_He heard the lock turn and hastily pulled his mind together. He had to keep focused. Had to obey every command. Show Gabriel he was good and willing. Whatever Master wanted, Crowley would do._

_The Archangel entered the cell on measured strides. He snapped his fingers._

_Crowley forced himself not to flinch._

_No pain followed the noise. Just the sound of wood scraping against stone. Crowley lifted his eyes just enough to see Gabriel seating himself in a chair, his legs spread suggestively wide._

_Crowley tried to get his body focused and ready to respond. That was probably the least painful thing the Archangel could ask of him without resorting to healing at least some of Crowley’s wounds. Crowley just wasn’t positive he could hold his mind together long enough to perform._

_“Come here,” Gabriel ordered._

_Crowley crawled his way to his master’s feet, keeping his head nearly dragging against the stone. He flattened himself as soon as he reached Gabriel’s shoes. He lifted one hand tentatively, then drew back. Sometimes Gabriel wanted initiative. Sometimes it was punished._

_“Go ahead,” Gabriel said, his voice carrying no clue as to his mood._

_Crowley cautiously raised himself from the ground and pulled down the Archangel’s zipper._

_Gabriel didn’t pull his hair or take control this time. He rested one hand cupped around the back of Crowley’s neck, but the pressure only increased at the climax, then relaxed once more._

_When finished, Crowley returned his head to the floor and waited. There was no chance Gabriel had come in with that singular purpose in mind. Something worse was sure to follow._

_The silence went on long enough for Crowley’s mind to start to drift. He was snapped back to reality when Gabriel finally spoke._

_“I’m going to ask you some questions. You will answer honestly and concisely. Do you understand?”_

_Crowley shuddered. Here it came. Gabriel hadn’t interrogated him in a long time. And they both knew what would happen if a certain subject came up. “Y-yesss, Massster,” Crowley hissed in his rising panic._

_“What’s your name?”_

_The simplicity of the question rocked him. “C-Crowley, Master,” he stammered._

_“What are you?”_

_“A slave. Y-your slave.”_

_A moment of silence. “And what does that mean?”_

_Crowley shook. “It… it means you’re my master. Th-that you own me.”_

_“What’s your purpose?”_

_“To obey you. To please you.” Crowley bit hard on his lip. Where was this leading?_

_“Who do you obey?”_

_“You, Master.”_

_“Only me?”_

_“Only you, Master.” Crowley breathed out the confirmation in a terrified whisper._

_Gabriel was silent for a long moment. “What’s forgiveness?”_

_The change in subject threw Crowley’s mind further off-balance. His thoughts raced frantically in search of a simple definition. “To… to be pardoned of… faults.”_

_“Good.” Another pause. “Do you deserve forgiveness?”_

_“No, Master.” Crowley spoke quickly._

_Gabriel sounded slightly pleased. “Why not?”_

_“I… I’m a demon, Master.”_

_A weighted pause. “Go on.”_

_Crowley swallowed hard. “I rebelled. I Fell. I’m… I’m supposed to suffer. I… can’t be forgiven. Ever.”_

_“And…?”_

_Crowley forced down a sob. What else did Gabriel want him to say?! “I make mistakes… I disappoint you. I deserve punishments. N-not forgiveness.” Was that enough?_

_It must have been since Gabriel moved on to another question. “Do you know what mercy is?”_

_“It’s…” Crowley searched his mind frantically. “It’s forgiveness… or kindness? G-giving relief to someone who needs it.”_

_“Who doesn’t deserve it,” Gabriel corrected._

_“Who doesn’t deserve it,” Crowley repeated hastily._

_“That’s mercy, Crowley,” Gabriel went on, his voice taking on its all-knowing cadence. “Looking upon the least and most vile of creation, and allowing it the opportunity to live. To become something useful – although still disgusting and unworthy of forgiveness.”_

_Crowley nodded, his forehead scraping the stone._

_Another long pause. “Would you like mercy, Crowley?”_

Can’t say yes – that’s presumptuous. Can’t say no – that’s not allowed. What does he want?! 

_“I deserve to suffer, Master,” Crowley whispered cautiously. “If… if you give me the chance… it won’t be b-because I'm worthy of it.”_

_Another pause. “Good.”_

_Crowley practically sobbed._

_“Sit up.”_

_Crowley rose to the submissive pose Gabriel had once demanded – back before Crowley’s ineptitude had denied him even the privilege of raising his head._

_Gabriel’s hands cupped his face, stroking his thumb slowly along Crowley’s jaw._

_Crowley closed his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks._

_“You don’t deserve even this, you know.” The Archangel’s voice was gentle, even as it dripped its venom into Crowley’s mind. “Disgusting serpent. The dirt’s where you belong. Where **She** says you belong. There will never be forgiveness for you. But if you learn your place, maybe you’ll be allowed to serve. Maybe you can live knowing at least you’re useful to your betters. Would you like that?”_

_“Yes, Master,” Crowley whispered._

_“You’re going to be tested again.”_

_Crowley lurched._

_Gabriel slapped him. “Did I say you could move?”_

_“N-no, Master. I’m so-”_

_“Shut up.” Gabriel slapped him again._

_The blows weren’t hard since Gabriel didn’t have much space for the wind-up. But they terrified Crowley all the same._

_Gabriel waited a moment to see if Crowley would do anything further to annoy him. Then his gentle touch returned. “You’re going to be tested again,” he repeated and let the ominous phrase hang in the air. “Do you remember your last test?”_

_“…Yes, Master,” Crowley whispered._

_“Do you remember why you failed?”_

_Crowley shook. “Yes, Master.”_

_The pause lasted long enough for Crowley to forget to breathe. “What if that was no longer an issue?”_

_Crowley’s blood ran cold. Was that a demand for Crowley’s confession, or a threat of murder? “M-massster?”_

_Gabriel dragged Crowley closer, forcing him to lay his head in the Archangel’s lap. Gabriel's hands stroked over Crowley’s face – too firm to be called affectionate. A hint of impending pain in the touch. “What if it never happened? What if that life never happened?”_

_Crowley trembled, utterly lost and completely unsure how to answer._

 _Gabriel went on after a moment. “This is all your life will ever be. You at my feet where you belong. Receiving the punishments you deserve and the mercy I_ choose _to show you." His hands stilled, pressing down heavy and smothering. “What if this was all your life ever was? Just me and you. From the very beginning.”_

_It wasn’t true. Crowley remembered Hell. He remembered thousands of years on Earth. Of watching humanity spread out and establish itself. Of watching empires rise and fall. Of cultures, songs, foods, literature…_

_…long evenings curled up on a battered sofa. Wine. Dinners. Theological arguments. A hand just daring to brush against…_

_“Does it really seem real?” Gabriel pressed on. “The idea that anyone could ever love you? You’re not worth it. You’d just corrupt and destroy anything you tried to love. It’s all just a lie. Just a delusion you made for yourself. To feel worthy. But you’re not. You’re just a demon. Just a rebellious, unloved, cast aside demon. **She** couldn’t love you. Why would you ever think anyone else could?”_

_Crowley shook with suppressed sobs. Gabriel was right. So right._

_His delirium rose in full force. His saw thousands of faces – angel, demon, human – all looking at him with disgust and scorn. Only one face looked at him with an ounce of gentleness. Of sympathy._

_That face was Gabriel’s._

_“You were nothing before me,” Gabriel said in a voice full of pity. “You were nothing until I saw your potential. Saw how you could serve me. That’s what you do. That’s all you’ve ever done. It’s taken you a long time to properly come to my feet. But I think you’re finally learning. Finally understanding your place. What place is that?”_

_Crowley almost missed the question. “B-beneath you, Master.”_

_“More,” Gabriel prompted._

_“Ssserving you. Obey… Obeying everything.” His voice broke into open weeping. “Please, Master… I’m so sorry.”_

_“I know you are.” Gabriel’s voice was warm with sympathy. “You’ve been rebelling a long time. Are you ready to give it all up? Are you ready to obey?”_

_Crowley struggled through his tears. “W-what do I need to do?”_

_“Forget.” Gabriel’s hands passed softly over the demon’s head. “Forget you ever thought you were something besides my slave. Forget you ever thought you were worthy of love. Accept what you are. What you always were. What you’ll always be. Can you do that?”_

_Forget. Just let go of those beautiful, lingering memories. The memories that didn’t seem real anymore. So marred by Gabriel’s venom. So distant after so long of pain and degradation._

_Gabriel was right. It was all an illusion. The idea he’d ever been worthy of love._

_And it wasn’t really betrayal, was it? If those memories – whether false or not – just ceased to exist? He wasn’t… wasn’t selling another for his own safety. He wasn’t answering that question of Michael’s which had gotten him thrown into an unending cycle of punishment and pain. The… the memories would be safe… if they were real._

_If not… it didn’t matter._

_Crowley’s head was pressed so tightly into Gabriel’s lap that the demon was aware of nothing but the scent of Gabriel, the touch of Gabriel._

_The omnipotence of Gabriel._

Maybe there was no God, _his delirious mind mused._ Maybe there was only Gabriel.

_“…Yes, Master,” he whispered, although he couldn’t really remember the question. Just that whatever Gabriel said had to be right._

_“Good, Sweetheart,” Gabriel purred._

_Fresh tears rose in Crowley’s eyes at the sound of the pet name._

_Affection. Affection, at long last._

_Affection he didn’t deserve in the slightest._

_“You’re going to be tested again,” Gabriel murmured once more._

_Crowley trembled._

_Gabriel’s hands were soothing through his hair. “It’s alright, Sweetheart. You’re not going to fail me. I’m going to make sure you pass.”_


	6. Chapter 6

“Hello?” 

Crowley tensed at the sound of someone landing behind him. He flattened his hands against the garden soil, uncertain if he should stay still or turn around.

“Hello? Excuse me?” The voice came up very close behind him.

Crowley turned nervously, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Yes, hi!” The angel spoke hurriedly. “Is Raphael home?”

Crowley shuddered. He’d never been ordered against speaking to anyone. This might fall under not obeying orders of anyone besides his master… except directions _to_ his master might be the same as running mail to Gabriel. “He’s inside,” he murmured at last. “The library.”

“Great. Thanks!” The angel trotted off, hauling a bulging bag behind them.

Crowley was nervous, but also curious. The interaction had been benign. All his interactions with angels since changing masters had been benign.

He waited until the angel had certainly gone inside, then he followed slowly.

He heard the murmur of voices from Raphael’s office and hung back. The workings of Heaven were none of his business. He knew not to listen, but it might be hard to convince Raphael of that fact if he was found hanging around the doorway. 

The angel came out after a moment, Raphael following.

Crowley dropped quickly to his knees. 

“…send Adnarel to meet you at the stairs. He knows where to go,” the stranger was saying.

“I’ll have these completed by morning,” Raphael replied.

“Thank you. I’ll head back right away.” The angel’s steps paused just in front of Crowley. “What’s with that?” they asked.

“It’s a bad habit,” Raphael said with a little sigh. “Crowley, please get up.”

The demon scrambled to his feet, swaying nervously in place and keeping his head very low.

“You pick the strangest houseguests,” the angel muttered. Louder, they said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good luck!” They vanished out the door.

Crowley glanced furtively at Raphael. Was his master angry?

The Archangel was studying the bag the angel had given him. “Want an apple?” he asked, holding the bag open enough for Crowley to see it was filled with gleaming, green fruit.

Several retorts relating to a garden, a tree, a serpent, and a fall came to the demon’s mind. He bit them all back in favor of a cautious nod. 

Raphael held out the bag so Crowley could pick. “Can you help me today?”

Crowley nodded with more force, clutching his chosen apple tightly to his chest. “What do you want me to do?” 

Raphael headed for a workroom. “There will be an outbreak on Earth. Admael wants to do something about it.”

“Will be?” Crowley asked, trailing along behind him.

“They try to plan ahead when they can. Admael’s read the signs and believes they have a brief window to prevent the disease from spreading far.” He hefted the bag onto a table. “Once the apples are properly miracled, they’ll be taken to Earth.”

“Eating them will make people better?” Crowley asked doubtfully.

“No. We’ll plant them in strategic locations. Encourage people to tend them. If they thrive, they’ll cleanse the air and land around the tree.” He sighed, looking regretfully at the fruit. “There’s only so much we’re allowed to do.” He straightened after a moment and pointed to a bucket in the corner. “Go fill that from the fountain, please. I only need about half a bucket. And please be careful not to splash yourself.”

Crowley hurried to the courtyard.

He bit into the apple as he went, savoring the tartness which flooded his mouth. He was starting to appreciate food a little more than he ever had on Earth. He’d understood the social aspect, of course. He’d dined with many humans both in friendship and to facilitate temptation. But the food part… he was only just starting to recognize the pleasurable sensation of taste. After so long of tasting only fear, dust, and blood, there was something fascinating about filling his mouth and nose with other aromas and sensations.

He tucked the apple into his shirt as he reached the fountain and cautiously filled the bucket. He walked with slow and measured steps back to the workroom.

Raphael had spread out the apples. He poured the water into a shallow basin, adding ingredients and incantations to the water. 

Crowley made several trips to fetch dried and fresh herbs. He stood by, watching the careful work in silent fascination. 

Raphael had Crowley help with chalking lines around the apples and writing Enochian symbols on the table. Crowley checked every mark three times, fearful of getting anything wrong.

At last Raphael touched each apple with a thin stream of liquid, whispering over them all the while. The potion absorbed into each apple without a single drop hitting the table. 

“That’s done,” Raphael said with a weary sigh as he set the bowl down heavily. “Can you fetch some normal water and a rag? The table will need to be cleaned of every trace of work.”

Crowley obeyed. By the time he returned, Raphael had transferred the apples to a tray and moved them to sit in the sun. 

Crowley scrubbed the table, watching as Raphael cleaned up the rest of the work. He wondered, not for the first time, why Raphael did everything so relentlessly by hand. Surely a snap of his fingers could take care of so many projects – from rolling bandages to sweeping up herbs. But he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Raphael use a miracle for the sake of convenience. Not that he’d complain – the sound of snapping fingers always sent him into a panic spiral. 

“I’m going to be gone the next two days,” Raphael said as he finished sweeping. “Do you feel alright being here by yourself?” 

Crowley shuddered. _No_ , was the honest answer. The nightmares didn’t come every night – just most nights. It was one thing to be in this wide-open place knowing his master was nearby. The unknown stretched uncertainly in every direction – the shadows in the forest hiding a thousand images of Gabriel. To be alone…

“You can come back to the city,” Raphael offered after a moment’s silence. “You’d have to stay in my room, but I can arrange it to lock from the inside. And have someone take you to the hospital wing if you wanted to talk with Adabiel again.”

Crowley considered between two fairly poor choices and shook his head. “I’d… rather stay here. If that’s alright, Master.” He tensed as the words left his mouth. Preferences weren’t allowed. Gabriel would have done the opposite of what Crowley said. Or a worse third option.

Raphael merely put the broom away. “I’ll be back as soon as the work’s done. Ideally without getting waylaid in the offices.” He came over to survey Crowley’s scrubbing. “That looks fine. Please step outside. I’m going to cleanse the table, and I don’t want you burned.”

Crowley retreated across the hall.

Through the limited view of the door, he saw Raphael open a vial and speak a work in Enochian, then pour liquid fire across the tabletop.

It was celestial fire – the stuff flaming swords and burning bushes came from. It wasn’t nearly so lethal as hellfire, but it would certainly bite into Crowley’s essence as enthusiastically as holy water.

The demon shivered. Thank _someone_ Gabriel had never thought to use THAT.

Raphael came out a moment later. “All done. It’s safe for you again.” He gave Crowley a look of concern. “Did I scare you?”

Crowley started to shake his head, then hesitated. “A little, Master,” he whispered. 

“I only use it for cleaning,” Raphael assured him, “and sometimes rituals. All the vials are clearly marked. Just don’t fool around with anything if you don’t know what it is.”

Crowley nodded. Of course he’d never poke around the workroom without permission. He might have still been curious, but he’d had the desire to _act_ on curiosity beaten out of him long before.

He was surprised Raphael took the time to talk to him that night. But the Archangel had said he would, and he kept that promise.

They’d made slow progress through Crowley’s early interrogation over the past few days. Most sessions had consisted of Earth memories, then a dip into pain, then back again. They’d backtracked to talk about the abduction again. Raphael had very much encouraged him to _feel_ the unfairness of being attacked and dragged away. Crowley steadfastly insisted he deserved it.

Tonight, Crowley forged ahead. If he was going to be alone for a few days, he thought Raphael needed to understand that Crowley had learned his early lessons. That he knew not to talk back, or make eye contact, or disobey.

He told about the holy water gag. He tried not to dwell on how much it hurt. He insisted Gabriel had had no choice. If Crowley had learned sooner to be silent, the pain wouldn’t have been necessary. 

When he reached the point where he’d spit venom into Gabriel’s face, he broke off to frantically explain he’d never do something like that again. “I only did it once,” he insisted, beginning to babble in his anxiety. “I know better. I know not to defend myself. It’s wrong. Gabriel knew I wouldn’t hurt him anymore. Even when he used my mouth, he knew I’d never bite or anything.”

“It’s alright, Crowley,” Raphael soothed. “I feel entirely safe with you.” 

Crowley jumped, barely managing to avoid eye contact in his surprise. His voice dropped low. “I don’t deserve your trust, Master.”

“You’ve never given me reason not to trust,” Raphael replied, his voice sure and steady. “Even your stories about Earth hardly reveal a desire to inflict pain or cruelty.”

Crowley winced. “I was never very good at my job,” he confessed in a low voice. 

“I think you were excellent at your job.”

Crowley did look up that time, flinching to see the Archangel’s amused eyes on him.

“You tempted souls. But that’s not necessarily an evil thing. Sometimes stirring people out of complacency or enlightening them to new ideas is exactly what they need.” He waited a moment. “I think you did very well at helping people move forward.”

“I corrupted them,” Crowley whispered, his eyes returning to their proper downward gaze. “I corrupt everything I touch.”

“You’re forgetting free will,” the angel said gently. “You can nudge a person one way or the other, but you don’t make them fall. They choose. Placing the blame on the tempter…” He shook his head. “It saddened me how quickly that happened in the garden. Humanity learned to rise and fall from the start, but they’re still working on taking responsibility.” 

There was a long pause as Crowley struggled with that.

“Would you like to stop there?” Raphael asked.

Crowley took a deep breath. “I… I want to tell you what Ga… how I was punished.” His voice lowered again. “And I did deserve it,” he insisted. “I broke the rules.”

It hurt to say. He had to cover his eyes with his arms and squeak the words out between sobs. Still, he told how his eyes had been burned from his skull. 

“Ssso I w-w-wouldn’t look at my betters,” Crowley stammered. “Ssso I wouldn’t forget again.” 

“He gave you your eyes back eventually,” Raphael observed.

Crowley nodded. “When… when he thought I’d learned my lesson. And I did!” He refrained from lifting his head. “While they were gone – he taught me. I learned. I was good… well, _better_ after that. I knew not to fight. Or look at him. Or talk back. I wouldn’t ever…”

“Shh, Crowley. It’s alright,” Raphael murmured soothingly. He’d shifted his chair to sit beside Crowley. He raised a hand. “May I?”

Crowley nodded, even if he was unsure what his master intended.

Raphael wrapped his arm around the demon’s shoulders and encouraged Crowley to lean against him. 

Wary, but starved for contact, Crowley complied.

“I believe you were different after that,” the Archangel said. “I believe he taught you to be very different than you were. I believe it’s hard for you to even see who you used to be.”

Crowley nodded into Raphael’s shoulder and tried not to cry any staining tears.

“Please try and believe you’re safe here. Gabriel will never harm you again. No one will ever take your eyes. And if someone did try to harm you like that, you are fully justified in fighting to protect your body.”

Crowley nodded. He thought he understood. 

He belonged to Raphael. Only Raphael had a right to him. If anyone came while Raphael was away, Crowley might defend himself to preserve himself for his master’s pleasure. 

Maybe, he thought wistfully as he leaned into Raphael’s shoulder, maybe if he was good, Raphael would hold him like this afterwards. 

*****

Crowley watched Raphael fly away and felt like his heart was breaking. 

Fears of abandonment flooded him as he stood at the door and stared until the sky swallowed up the angel. Even after, he fixed his eyes on the horizon, searching for one last glimpse of his master.

Raphael had said he’d be back as soon as possible, but it might be longer than two days if something delayed him. 

Crowley knew his master owed him nothing. If he chose to be gone a year, that was his right. Crowley would be a good little slave no matter how long he had to wait.

And when Raphael came back, Crowley would demonstrate all the welcome and devotion he could convey.

When he at last tore his eyes from the sky, he went to the garden and worked there for as long as he could find things to do. 

He’d focused on the herbs so far, but they really didn’t require much tending. And Raphael had encouraged him to do whatever he wanted in the ornamental garden.

He prowled among the flowers, finding most of the beds to be uninspiring. The plants had been cared for but not given much attention. He’d never have allowed his houseplants to behave so listlessly.

“You belong to an Archangel,” he scolded a bush of white flowers he couldn’t identify. “That’s a high honor. And he’s a good one. You could have it a lot worse. So, show some initiative. Look proud of yourself. Stop dragging your limbs in the dirt.”

The bush ignored him.

Crowley headed for the library in hopes of finding a book on identifying non-Earth plants. Did plants in Heaven get root-rot? Or aphids? What language would they best respond to?

He didn’t have much luck, but he did notice the library was dusty. He’d not seen Raphael do any cleaning, but he’d certainly never miracled grime away either.

Crowley set to work, feeling his mind soothed just to have something to do. It was easier to keep from falling into a panic when he had a purpose.

It was getting a little easier to think about those early memories of Heaven. They hurt. They’d always hurt. But, there was something soothing about sharing them...

…with someone who kept insisting Crowley had rights. 

Rights to feel. Rights to protect himself.

It didn’t make sense.

And there was something else which didn’t make sense. About kneeling.

A bad habit, Raphael had called it. And then told him to stand up. 

Was he not supposed to kneel in front of other angels? But he belonged in the dirt. Beneath all of them. To stand in his master’s presence was hard enough when it was ordered. And in front of other angels… It felt so very wrong. He didn’t have the right to be on their level.

Raphael had never told him to kneel. Never told him to sit on the floor. The only times he’d directed Crowley anywhere, it had been to a chair. 

Raphael had never corrected his posture either. Crowley knew his submissive poses had grown woefully sloppy. Gabriel would have flayed his back to the bone for things Raphael had allowed him to get away with. 

Maybe Raphael didn’t care? Like this library, apparently. He’d allowed the dust to build up on the floor and unused shelves. Crowley noticed the tables and windows were pristine. Clearly, those were the parts that mattered to the Archangel.

So... Raphael didn’t care about him on his knees? Or he didn’t care how particular the pose was so long as Crowley showed proper deference? Or he didn’t care about deference at all?

The thing was, Crowley felt far more willing to go to his knees for Raphael than he ever had for Gabriel. 

With Gabriel it had been because of orders. One thing he could do to possibly appease his master and avoid pain. 

With Raphael… Crowley wanted to please him. Wanted to show his devotion. Out of fear, yes. He didn’t want to be hurt, and he didn’t want to be sent away. But he also wanted – needed – to show his gratitude. Raphael had taken him away from pain and isolation. He’d healed him, clothed him, given him a room, given him more kindness than Crowley could ever hope to earn, and what had Crowley done in return?

Grubbed around with the plants. Rolled some bandages. Occasionally did some fetching or cleaning.

It wasn’t enough.

He had to show Raphael his appreciation. Demonstrate that he knew his place. That he wouldn’t take advantage of the angel’s generosity. That he’d give Raphael whatever he wanted.

If he only had something to give.

Well… he did have one thing.

He could hear his own voice screaming, ‘ _There’s nothing left!_ ’ as Gabriel dripped holy water down his sides.

Yes, there was that. The thing which had taken Gabriel hours of torture and liters of holy water to receive. 

He could give himself.

He could invite.

It was all he had.

*****

Raphael returned late morning of the third day. 

“Things always takes longer than I expect,” he said wearily to Crowley as the demon hurried to kneel and greet him. “I need to sleep for a while.” He flashed Crowley a tired grin. “It’s good to be back. We’ll talk tonight. For now, I need to pass out.” He vanished into his room. 

Evening saw the angel and demon seated at the table.

“I brought you something from Earth,” the Archangel said, removing a paper bag from an inner pocket of his coat. 

Crowley slowly unfolded the crumpled bag and reached inside. 

Sunglasses. Not his quite usual style – but similar. Sleek. Black. Large lenses. 

“You’ve mentioned wearing them on Earth to hide your eyes. I thought you might feel more comfortable with them here.”

Crowley stared at the glasses, shaking with whirling emotions. “But… Master, if I wear them, you won’t know if I l-look you in the eyes.”

A smile played across Raphael’s face. “That’s right. I won’t.”

With trembling hands, Crowley slipped on the glasses.

The world darkened a few degrees – not enough to trouble his restored demonic vision. He felt a sudden weight off his shoulders – a sudden sense of safety as he hid himself from the world.

He had to push them aside to wipe his tears. “Thank you, Master,” he whispered with fervor. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” 

Raphael talked for a while about where he’d been and what he’d done. Apparently he didn’t feel the workings of Heaven were to be hidden from his slave. Crowley listened eagerly, cautiously asking questions when Raphael wandered into healing terms he didn’t understand. The Archangel seemed happy to clarify.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to wait for tomorrow for more of your story,” Raphael said regretfully. “I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much time.”

“That’s alright.” Crowley swallowed hard and braced himself. It felt a little easier to speak up with the glasses concealing him, even if what he was about to do sickened him. “Master? Um…”

Raphael had half risen, but he sat down at once. “Yes? Is there something you need?”

“It’s what…” Crowley faltered, then started over. “You’ve been patient with me, Master. I know I wasn’t… healthy when you claimed me. And-and I’m grateful y-you let me heal… And for healing me! I didn’t thank you then. I’m sorry.” He clutched the edge of the table. “I mean… I know what I’m for. Y-you don’t have to w-wait. I’ll… I’m inviting you. If… _when_ you want me. Anywhere. My bed. Or yours. Or… anywhere. I’ll be very good for you. You won’t have to force me or anything! U-unless you want to.” He forced the terrified tears not to fall and strained not to let his voice break. “I’ll do anything you want.” 

He didn’t dare look up in the silence which followed.

“I’ve never understood sex,” Raphael mused after a very long stretch. “It always seemed painful and controlling from an outside perspective.”

“It can be nice,” Crowley insisted in a rush.

“Oh?” the Archangel prompted.

Crowley started talking, and once he started, he found he couldn’t stop as his panic tumbled out in a torrent of words. 

When it came to true and beautiful intercourse, he’d had surprisingly limited experience considering his extended time on Earth and the many interested humans who’d subtly or not-so-subtly tried to introduce him to the concept. But he'd known true intimacy. He’d felt the beauty of it. And he could talk about that feeling forever.

Not the being, no. No names. No locations. No visuals. He babbled about intimate details without once revealing a single personal one. Those didn’t exist. 

Except references to a lot of restaurants. And a lot of wine. And, once, ducks.

He never quite got control of himself. He just ran out of air. He halted, panting helplessly, feeling sick and drained. Longing for something he couldn’t long for. Dreading something he couldn’t avoid. Wanting to get on with what Raphael would surely want now. Never wanting the Archangel to come anywhere near him again.

He wished he could throw up.

“What you’re describing,” Raphael said slowly, “sounds like something built over a very long time. A long time of creating trust. And a bond. A relationship. And only then can something so beautiful emerge.”

Crowley wasn’t sure if he nodded or just sat shuddering and trying to suppress his terrified whimpers.

“Someday,” the angel continued, “maybe you can show me how to find that.” He stared distantly toward a window. “I think it would be nice to find someone like that. Someone with whom to share absolute trust and intimacy. I’d like to learn more about that. Maybe you can help me find the right being for me.”

It took almost a full minute for Crowley to realize what wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll h-help. H-however you want me to,” he managed to whisper.

Raphael rose and crossed to Crowley’s side of the table. “Thank you. And thank you for your generous offer. But I’d prefer to find the long-term sort of love than immediate gratification.” He kissed the top of Crowley’s head and walked away.

Crowley panted for several minutes before he managed to get himself under control. 

He’d been… rejected. And he felt happy-hurt-relieved-confused-scared all at once. 

All he was certain of, somehow absolutely certain, was that that chaste kiss was the most non-consenting contact he was ever going to receive from Raphael.


	7. Character Drawings

Hey guys.

I'm a touch behind on chapters for both my stories, and there's something about January that always puts me in a brief drawing mood before I recognize I'd much rather write and improve that skill that work on my art. Anyway, one person asked how I pictured Raphael, and I did some sketching. They're pretty fast drawings, and I don't put the effort into sketches that I should. But until the next chapter's set to go, here's something.

**Raphael**

Here he is. The Archangel whose motives you all are debating. No spoilers here, hehe. You'll have to wait for the chapters. Anyway, I went with a more human look than a lot of the angels. I think Raphael found a corporation which let him blend in on Earth at the start and was quite content to keep up the look. He needs a neat and clean appearance, since cleanliness is important in medical work. But he's not fastidious about it like Gabriel. He'll get dirty when the need arises. His clothes are simple and practical. If he has to dress up, he can rock the suit, but he just wears whatever style everyone else is wearing. He doesn't care enough about clothes to be a trend-setter or show much individuality in stylish dress.

He's wearing hospital scrubs because I'm terrible at clothing design. I tried searching for 'historic doctor outfits', which yielded plague masks and _Doctor Who_ promo photos. Actually, I did see a Doctor Who outfit I kind of liked for Raphael, but that struck me as going way too meta. So I just stuck him in scrubs. With a wing insignia where the hospital logo would be. Of course.

**Raphael and Crowley**

Crowley with his hair all chopped off. At least he has his glasses back. They're out on the balcony. They'll spend time there in later chapters.

**Gabriel and Crowley**

And this lovely duo. Upcoming scene from Chapter 7. I don't really count it as a spoiler because 'Gabriel finding ways to make Crowley miserable' is just not a revelation. I think I made Gabriel too thin.

And then, this happened...

**Gabriel and Crowley discover 'Repossession'**

  


And that's it. I might add more drawings here occasionally if the spirit moves me. Or if there are other angels I feel like drawing. I also have a couple started I might finish later today if I'm not in a writing mood.

More chapters coming soon! I promise!

Almost all the poses are taken from [SenshiStock](https://www.deviantart.com/senshistock) who is one of my favorite stock image providers.


	8. Chapter 7

_“Gabriel!” Michael called as she quickened her strides and hurried toward the Archangel she’d spotted further down the hall. “A word.”_

_Gabriel’s shoulders tensed. He turned slowly, a strained smile on his face. “Yes, Michael?”_

_Michael halted, dropping her voice a little although the hall was empty. “Where’s Crowley?”_

_“In his cell,” Gabriel replied._

_“I just came from there, and he wasn’t there.”_

_Gabriel’s smile vanished. “What were you doing there?”_

_“Where’s the demon?” Michael demanded, ignoring Gabriel’s query._

_Gabriel’s expression tightened. “I put him in his original cell.”_

_“Why?”_

_“After the test yesterday? All of you talking about how_ pleased _you were with him and how_ good _he was.” The angel’s mouth curled back in a sneer. “He needed a reminder of his unimportance.”_

_“He_ did _do well,” Michael protested. “Shouldn’t his progress be rewarded?”_

_Gabriel’s smile returned, although a very different one. “He knows_ exactly _how I feel about his performance.”_

_Michael’s eyebrows drew together. “I thought you were past the point of requiring force.”_

_“Who said anything about force?”_

_“What’s happening to him right now?” Michael asked suspiciously._

_“I expect he’s waiting to see whether or not I intend to use force.” Gabriel gave her a measured look. “My methods have yielded results. You saw that.”_

_Michael changed topics, partially to stifle the uncomfortable churning in her soul which sometimes whispered that Gabriel’s ‘methods’ were going beyond the original stated scope of the project. “Have you confirmed his story yet?”_

_Gabriel blinked, looking as if he’d completely forgotten yesterday’s conversation. “It’s on my to-do list.”_

_Michael glowered at him. “I had hoped you would have by now so we could move on to the next phase.”_

_“We’ll move to the next phase when I say we’re ready,” Gabriel said dismissively. “And the demon’s not ready yet.”_

_“That isn’t your call to make.”_

_“You gave me free rein over this portion of the project. I know the subject best. I say he’s not completely trained.”_

_“From what I saw, it’s time to move forward. That’s why I want to begin getting him acclimated to working with Remiel.”_

_Gabriel rocked back a step. “Rem…”_

_“I don’t deny you’ve done an excellent job so far,” Michael plunged onward, maintaining firm and uncompromising eye contact. “But you have responsibilities enough. Crowley will need a new handler when he’s in the field.”_

_Gabriel looked speechless. “But… he’s mine,” he protested in a hushed voice._

_“Yours?” Michael’s eyebrows jumped._

_“My project,” Gabriel amended. “He won’t respond to anyone else the way he does to me.”_

_“He did just fine at the test yesterday.”_

_“I told him to obey you and the others.”_

_Michael shrugged. “Then make it clear he’ll be taking orders from Remiel from now on.” She turned away._

_After a moment, Gabriel hurriedly caught up with her. His expression had cleared from surprise to a look of certainty. “There’s a reason I need to remain his handler.”_

_Michael halted. “And why is that?”_

_“He will only listen to me unless ordered otherwise.” Gabriel shrugged innocently. “It was a side-effect of the training.”_

_“How was that a side-effect?” Michael demanded._

_“He had to perceive me as having absolute control. You’ll find in extreme circumstances, or when given conflicting commands, he’ll always listen to me.”_

_Michael glowered at him. “I’m sure he’ll adapt.”_

_“He might. Given enough time. But you want this project to move forward as soon as possible, don’t you? If you want the best results, I should continue directing him.”_

_“Gabriel, I don’t deny you’ve done an amazing job budgeting your time. I don’t know how you’ve made so much progress and kept up with you work. But this next stage is going to take even more time. Let Remiel handle it.”_

_“It won’t work,” Gabriel insisted. “I can prove it. Set up another test. See if he’ll respond to anyone but me.”_

_Michael’s eyes narrowed. “It would only take you a minute to go warn him of what you want.”_

_Gabriel gave her a wounded look. “Set up the test. I’ll stay right beside you while you do. I won’t have a second of spare time to slip away.” He watched her carefully. “When it’s done, you’ll see letting me maintain control of him is best for everyone.”_

_*****_

_They built the obstacle course in a large, empty room._

_Most of it was fairly simple. Marks on the floor indicated where to turn left or right. Added to that were some simple obstacles of stairs, balancing beams, a sand pit, weave poles, and narrow chutes. There were also quite a few things scattered throughout which could cause minor injuries._

_Michael thought they’d gone too far with the pool of diluted holy water._

_Someone else had suggested it, but Gabriel was the one who’d insisted it was perfect._

_True to words, Gabriel stayed in the room. Every time Michael turned around, he was either assisting with designing the course or leaning against the wall watching the proceedings. He changed positions on the wall rather often – sometimes without her noticing the shift. But that was hardly important._

_When it was finished, the group stood well back and surveyed the course with murmurs of approval. Over a dozen angels had joined the work party. Obviously, quite a few were curious to see Gabriel’s trained demon perform._

_“I suppose we’re ready,” Michael murmured. “Gabriel, we should… Gabriel?” She looked around slightly wildly._

_“Right here.” Gabriel waved innocently from where he leaned against the wall. Michael frowned, unable to remember when he’d moved to that side of the room. And hadn’t his hair been parted on the other side…?_

_Michael shook her head sharply. She really needed to take a break once the project was better settled. “Let’s collect the subject.”_

_The Archangels walked side-by-side down the hall. Gabriel seemed quite confident. His hands were thrust into his pockets, and he whistled a few notes._

_“I see you’re enjoying this,” Michael muttered sarcastically._

_“It’s always enjoyable to be proven right,” Gabriel replied sweetly._

_“You haven’t won yet.”_

_“I have absolute confidence in my training plan.”_

_They reached the cell. Gabriel unlocked the door._

_Inside, they found the demon kneeling in subservient form in the center of the dim, stone room. He was dressed in the Earth-style clothes Michael always saw him wearing. He didn’t lift his eyes or move at their arrival._

_“Does he stay like that all the time?” Michael asked suspiciously._

_“He knows to get in position when he hears the lock turn,” Gabriel replied._

_Michael approached Crowley, who didn’t acknowledge her presence. He seemed even paler and thinner than he’d been the day before. And had his hair been quite that long? Maybe it was just the lighting._

_She circled behind him and snapped her fingers._

_Several strips of cloth dropped into her palm._

_She bound his crossed wrists together, taking care not to tie them too tightly. She reached around his head and secured the blindfold._

_The demon’s skin crawled at her touch, but that was the only reaction._

_“Stand up, Crowley,” she instructed in a voice filled with authority._

_The demon didn’t so much as twitch._

_“Stand up,” she repeated, letting a little commanding power creep into her voice. She could command the armies of Heaven with a word. Surely one demon would respond to her._

_Crowley shivered but remained kneeling._

_Michael took a grip on his arm and rose to her feet, pulling the demon along with her. He went limp at her touch, a dead weight as she tried to move him. When she let go, he crashed back to the ground in what must have been agony to his knees. Without a sound, he resumed the kneeling pose._

_Michael stared at the demon in bewilderment. This was far different than what she’d experienced only a day before. She looked to Gabriel for explanation._

_He smirked at her. “Crowley, stand,” he said quietly._

_The demon scrambled immediately to his feet and stood expectantly, his head still bowed and his whole body oriented toward Gabriel._

_Gabriel continued to smile slyly at Michael. “Michael will lead you from the room. You will walk with her.” He stepped back from the door and made a mocking bow, directing her to take the lead._

_Fighting down a surge of angry comments, Michael took hold of Crowley’s arm and led him from the room._

_Crowley walked steadily at her side, never once pausing or faltering with any show of uncertainty. She tried to direct him carefully, but he moved so fast she once had to pull him back from walking straight into an oncoming angel. He was pliant and unresisting to her tug._

_She dropped his arm as they entered the room. Crowley halted immediately, not moving until Gabriel spoke._

_“Come here,” the Archangel said as he resumed leaning against the wall._

_Crowley went at once toward him, not stopping his forward progress until Gabriel ordered him to stop, turn around, and kneel. The demon waited at the Archangel’s feet, seemingly oblivious to anything else occurring in the room._

_Michael felt her unease rising. The display was impressive. Just as it had been the day before. Crowley had proven pliant and biddable then. But clearly Gabriel had saved this even more impressive display for an opportune moment._

_She wondered a little, as she had the day before, how Gabriel had done it. Such control achieved in such a short time. Certainly, his methods had been harsh, but she couldn’t argue with results._

_Still, there was something about this test which troubled her. But there wasn’t much she could do. She’d pressed for this. She had to see it through._

_Motioning the other angels to silence, she positioned them around the perimeter of the room. Then she gestured for Gabriel to bring the demon to the starting line._

_Gabriel watched for her nod, then spoke in a clear voice. “Walk forward.”_

_Without hesitation, the blindfolded demon obeyed._

_“Stop. Turn right. Walk forward... stop. Step up. Step up. Turn left…” Gabriel steadily directed the demon through the course._

_Michael pointed at an angel who called out, “Stop!”_

_Crowley walked on without acknowledging the voice._

_The next time Gabriel halted him, another angel called out contrary directions to Gabriel’s. Then several angels called out very conflicting statements while Gabriel was silent. Then several more tried their best Gabriel impressions. Others attempted to drown out the Archangel’s commands._

_Crowley never once responded to anyone but Gabriel._

_Even when the pain started._

_Midway through the course, he began to run into obstacles meant to make him falter or listen to the wrong directive. Two angels had been stationed on the course to bring switches down on him as he passed beneath them. In another place, a noose dropped around his neck and threatened to drag him from the path. In another the floor was raised with sharp ridges which bit at his feet._

_Crowley plowed onward no matter what he faced._

_Michael’s fingers dug into her arm, growing more upset by the moment. She’d witnessed Crowley commit self-harm at Gabriel’s commands, but this felt even worse. The way Gabriel repeatedly directed him toward danger, and Crowley walked like a faithful little lamb into whatever pain awaited him._

_And he never made a sound._

_It was as he approached the holy water that Michael reached her absolute breaking point. “Crowley, stop!” she shouted, filling the words with her power._

_The demon stumbled and bent his head low. For a moment she thought he was obeying. Then she realized he was_ fighting _the power. Pushing against it with all his might, doggedly taking step after step forward despite impending agony._

_He didn’t falter at the first sting of holy water. The gathered angels cried out in surprise at the smell of burning flesh, but the demon only shifted his weight and fought against Michael’s power in order to put his other foot into the pool._

_“Gabriel!” Michael cried, whirling on her fellow Archangel. “Stop this! Get him out of there!”_

_Gabriel looked mildly at her. “He’d be out by now if you weren’t making it so hard for him.”_

_Michael glanced wildly back, realizing the demon was still struggling against her command, which was impeding his labored progress to the other side of the shallow pool. She made a pass of her hand, negating her control._

_The demon at once moved faster._

_“Stop,” Gabriel ordered, his eyes fixed on Michael._

_And there he stood. His feet burning in the water. The smell of roasting flesh and ash clogging the air. And the demon didn’t move._

_“You’ve made your point!” Michael cried furiously. “Get him out of there!”_

_“Are you sure?” Gabriel asked calmly. “I can have him do the course again if you’d like. Or bring in other angels to see if he’ll respond to anyone else. Maybe Remiel should be here for this.”_

_“No! No, I’ve seen enough!”_

_Gabriel smiled and turned slowly to the demon. “Walk forward.”_

_The demon limped his way out of the pool. He didn’t collapse on solid ground. He kept going, continuing to follow Gabriel’s orders to circle the room until he knelt once more at the Archangel’s feet._

_Gabriel waited until the other angels had dispersed before he laid a hand on the demon’s bowed head as if bestowing a blessing. Crowley rocked forward and leaned his head against Gabriel’s leg as the healing grace washed through him, eliminating his injuries._

_“Good boy,” Michael heard Gabriel murmur. “I’m pleased.”_

_The demon sagged, letting out the smallest sob – the first noise he’d made._

_Michael approached Gabriel in a state of awe. “How did you do it?” she asked, her voice more hushed than demanding._

_Gabriel smiled, the triumphant smirk gone and replaced with something that looked like genuine affection for the demon at his feet. “Careful, systematic training. I knew what I expected, and I get what I want.”_

_Michael sighed. “Well… you’ve made your point. He’ll do anything for you, won’t he?”_

_“Yes.” Gabriel looked down at the silent and weary demon. “He will.”_

_“Then, obviously, you’ll continue working with him. You’re sure you can find the time?”_

_“Believe me, time will not be a problem.”_

_“Alright,” Michael sighed. “He’s all yours. We’ll progress to the next stage when you feel he’s ready.”_

_“Thank you.” Gabriel stroked Crowley’s head as one might a pet dog. Crowley leaned into the contact. “I’ll let you know.”_

_As Michael walked away, she heard Gabriel speaking kindly to his charge._

_“Come on, Sweetheart. You’ve had a long day. Let’s get you to bed.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would have been when Gabriel contacted Aziraphale if he hadn't had this conversation with Michael. How things change when Gabriel starts being protective of his property. Protective enough to give up trying to force a confession and switch to a new plan. One to ensure nobody can take his slave away.
> 
> Next chapter, Monday.


	9. Chapter 8

“Considering what you said last night,” Raphael began as they settled at the table, “I wonder if you’d like to discuss the first time Gabriel raped you.”

A full-body shudder passed through Crowley.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. Not after the way he’d offered himself. 

“But we don’t have to speak of it at all,” Raphael went on in his composed voice. “We can skip the subject entirely, or you can choose to come back to it another night. I thought you might want to discuss it. You spoke so highly of consensual sex. I can see where non-consenting would hurt… perhaps more than some of the other tortures inflicted on you.”

“It wasn’t always non-consenting,” Crowley whispered before he had time to think about what he was saying. He winced at the words.

Raphael cocked his head but didn’t request clarification.

Crowley went on after a moment. “…Sssometimes, it was easier to… to let him use me… or to try and get him to use me… instead of… of whatever he was planning.” He hugged his arms around his torso. “Sometimes he caught on… and then he’d do both.”

Raphael looked concerned. “Maybe we should save this for another day. When you’re feeling more comfortable.” 

Crowley clutched his arms tighter around himself. “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” he whispered. “No one’s supposed to know.”

A frightened part of him wondered how Raphael knew, and the fleeting idea that Gabriel had told him rushed into his mind. But… no. Raphael had healed his injuries. Of course he’d seen the evidence of rape. And hadn’t Crowley basically confessed the previous night?

“What’s the penalty for telling someone?”

Crowley pulled his knees to his chest and hugged himself into a ball. “Sssomeone else gets hurt,” he whispered. 

Raphael nodded. “Do you believe you’re safe here?” he asked.

The automatic confirmation – the immediate need to deliver whatever answer his master wanted to hear – rushed to Crowley’s mind. But he restrained himself from the delivery. Instead he thought about the question very seriously. “Why do you ask me this stuff?” he asked at last.

Raphael didn’t seem bothered or confused. “I’d like to help you heal. And part of that is coming to understand what you went through, and helping you face it. You’re carrying a lot of demons of the metaphorical kind. You won’t grow any stronger until you’ve put them to rest.”

Crowley rested his head on his knees and considered. “But… why? I’m not worth it.”

Raphael leaned forward. He gazed steadily at the demon, though he kept his eyes fixed low, not forcing eye contact. He’d never yet forced eye contact. “I think you’re worth much more than you believe,” he said quietly. “I think your self-worth was stripped from you, and you’ve forgotten all you once were. I think you were someone of value once, but you’ve been taught that that someone was flawed. And I think you still have value as you are now.”

Crowley looked away with a heavy weight of doubt. “There’s not much to me. Not then, not now.” He buried his head behind his knees. “I’m only good enough to serve my betters.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Crowley nodded. His eyes closed as tears trickled against his glasses.

“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Raphael paused a moment. “I see someone who has gone through relentless pain but still held on to as much of himself as he can.”

Crowley cautiously lifted his head. 

“I see someone who still remembers how to hope. How to trust. How to find beauty. I see your gentleness with the plants. Your intelligence in the questions you ask. Your willingness to learn. Your excellent memory. And your willingness to face your traumas.”

“I don’t think I’d do that without… without you asking about it.”

“I’m here to help guide you and find your way to a stronger place. I want you to find that self-worth you’ve lost. It’s your choice how far we go. We can stop at any time. We can skip things. We can go in any order. I hope you’ll trust me with the whole story someday. But this is your story. Your pain. Your choice.”

Crowley hid his head again with an uneasy shudder. “What’s… what’s the consequence if… if I don’t choose what you want?” 

There was a long moment of silence. 

“You’re allowed to make choices, Crowley,” the Archangel said gently. “Your body is yours. Your memories are yours. What you do with them is up to you. There’s no penalty for not doing what I would do. I’ll offer guidance. But you choose if you want to follow it. I’ll never force you to act on my opinions.”

 _You’re wrong,_ Crowley thought. _My body isn’t mine. It’s yours. I’m a slave. That’s the only value I have._

It was nice of Raphael to say these things. Maybe it eased his conscience a little. But in the end, Crowley didn’t really have a choice. 

He let out a sigh. “The first time… it was a while after he took my eyes…”

He struggled to explain, backtracking to touch on some of what Gabriel had done to tear him apart while his sight was gone.

The actual rape… he skipped most of the physical and just brushed upon how he’d been held down and forced.

“He… did it a lot after that. Not… not every session… but… most times.” Crowley’s head was once again buried behind his knees. Surprisingly, he wasn’t crying. Maybe because he’d cried himself out from so many assaults. 

“S-sometimes he was gentle,” he added, his face going hot. “Or… or he’d pet me after. But that was mostly… mostly a-after the bed. Months later.”

“Months?” Raphael asked sharply. He'd been largely quiet during Crowley's unsteady speech.

Crowley nodded. “I don’t know how long… it was hard to tell. But there was a long time when I couldn’t see… and a long time in the cell after. When he let me have my eyes back. And then in the room… It was still a cell. But it was nicer. Where you found me. That was my reward. If I was good.” His throat began to close up. He was thinking of too many bad things at once.

“Months,” Raphael repeated softly. “Did you have any way to keep track of time?” he asked in a puzzled tone.

“No…" Crowley struggled against the lump in his throat and the sickening flood of memories. "I just… I thought he probably only visited once a day. When he wasn’t doing his real job. And… th-there were a lot of visits.”

“I’m sorry,” Raphael said quickly. “I’m pushing for far too much tonight. Would you like to take a walk and settle your mind?”

Crowley nodded. Yes, it would be nice to think about anything besides the past.

They talked as they walked – mostly Raphael about his recent work on Earth. He also asked questions about the garden. Crowley mentioned having trouble identifying the plants.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of gardening books. We can try the library in the city sometime. It might help you.”

Conversation tapered off for the remainder of the walk. 

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep?” Raphael asked when they reached the house.

Crowley hesitated. “I don’t have nightmares _every_ night.”

“You’re always welcome to sit with me. Anything you need.” Raphael reached out a hand, then drew back before actually touching him. “I mean that. I want to help you.”

Crowley nodded, his eyes on the ground. He didn’t know what he needed. He also wasn’t completely sure he believed Raphael. Maybe the Archangel just wanted his slave to get over his issues so he could work more productively. 

Raphael started toward his own room. “Sleep well, Crowley.”

Crowley watched him go. “Goodnight, Master.” 

He leaned on his windowsill for a long time after. 

‘ _Do you feel safe here?_ ’ Raphael had asked. 

Crowley hadn’t given him an answer, and he struggled to work that out now.

He had some reasons to feel safe. Gabriel was gone. Michael seemed out of the picture – for now at least. Crowley hadn't ruled her out entirely. Raphael didn’t seem interested in hurting him for amusement's sake. If this was an act, it was an unnecessarily long game. He was definitely not a rapist. He didn’t exude that feeling. He wouldn’t even touch Crowley without permission.

The house wasn’t exactly defensible. Although the remote aspect was appealing. And the few angels he’d seen hadn’t shown interest in hurting him. 

So, did he feel safe? Maybe. Safer than he’d had reason to feel in Heaven before. 

Maybe that would grow into something closer to peace.

*****

There was an old orchard near the edge of the estate. 

It had produced fruits long ago, but the trees were old now, and Raphael had allowed them to go wild.

Crowley sometimes visited the grove and tried to clear away the dead wood. He thought there was something sad about things which had once been tended with care and were now left to their own devices.

It was good exercise too. He’d walk to the grove, climb a few trees, then fly back to the house. It helped strengthen his slowly improving body.

Today he’d just dropped from a tree, a mostly-ripe peach in hand, when a voice struck him to the core.

“Hi, Raphael! I didn’t think you ever came out of your… you’re not Raphael.”

Crowley turned quickly, resisting hiding the peach behind his back.

An angel, her tangled hair peppered with wheat stalks, stared at him suspiciously. “What are you do…” Her expression cleared. “Oh! Are you Raphael’s new houseguest?”

That seemed like a very broad term for slave, but Crowley nodded cautiously.

Her face stretched into a smile. “Good. Are you staying long?”

“I hope so,” Crowley said in a small voice.

The angel nodded, her smile growing. “I hope so too. I worry about Raphael. He spends so much time alone.” She shook her head. “Archangels, you know? So caught up in duty. I’d think it would make them snap. Do you have Archangels in Hell? Or something like it?”

“I… tried to stay away from the court,” Crowley admitted.

“Me too. Politics. It’s probably the same everywhere. Heaven. Hell. Even the humans get mixed up in the nonsense. Anyway, can you give Raphael a message for me?”

Crowley nodded. He’d decided relaying messages didn’t count as following other angel’s orders. Although, he should probably check with Raphael.

“Alarid just earned her wings,” the angel said proudly. Seeing the demon’s mystified expression, she amended the statement. “She just became a flight captain in the guards.”

Crowley nodded.

“We’re hosting a party. All the neighbors are coming. I wanted to invite Raphael. You could come too.”

Crowley found himself staring at her. “You… do know I’m a demon… right?” She must have known. She’d mentioned Hell. But… why was she being friendly?

The angel laughed. “Of course. Raphael told all the neighbors he was going to have a demon staying with him.”

“He did?”

“Sure. Can’t have some hothead smiting one of his guests, can he?” She shrugged. “If you’re with Raphael, you must be alright.”

“Oh,” Crowley said softly. 

“Besides, you’re not the weirdest thing he’s had stay with him.” The angel spread her wings, then paused. “Oh! Party date!” She rattled off a date which had nothing to do with an Earth calendar. Crowley tried to memorize the words and numbers as she few away.

Confused and very dazed, he flew back to the house.

“Master?” he called as he came through the door. “I have a message from… oh.” He shrank back.

Raphael was in the sitting room, a strange angel seated across from him. They were glaring at one another. The stranger’s wings were out and bristling. Raphael's hands were clenched into fists. They both turned suddenly at the demon’s arrival.

“It’s alright, Crowley,” Raphael said in a chillier tone than Crowley had heard before. “Raguel was just _leaving_.”

The stranger rose. She was a solid-looking angel – the sort any demon would think twice about tangling with.

Crowley resisted flattening himself against the floor. He would have, but he didn’t dare move for fear of drawing her attention.

“We’ll discuss this later,” the stranger rumbled. She stalked toward the door. “Crowley,” she said in acknowledgement as she left the room.

Crowley stayed frozen until he heard the beating of wings. Then he sank to his knees, frightened shakes washing through him.

“It’s alright,” Raphael murmured, crouching down in front of him. “None of that was directed at you. I’m sorry if you heard us shouting.”

Crowley shook his head. “I didn’t come in until after.” Another tremor ran through him.

“Raguel won’t harm you,” Raphael assured him. “She wouldn’t no matter what. And she _can’t_ harm anyone within my domain. You’re under my protection.”

“And… away from here?”

“You still have nothing to fear from Raguel.”

“She… she’s an Archangel, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Her function is justice.”

“Oh.” Crowley glanced in the direction the Archangel had gone. He had some questions about justice in Heaven – at least that rebellious little part of his mind which he’d been having more trouble shutting off lately had some thoughts. The rest of him just hoped his vile demonic nature didn’t merit a personal visit from the angel of justice. 

“Did you need me for something?” Raphael asked.

“Oh… I had a message for you.” Crowley related the news about the party.

Raphael nodded absently. “Thank you, Crowley.” He rose and held out a hand to help the demon from the floor.

“Is it alright?” Crowley asked as he took Raphael’s hand. “Me talking to other angels?”

“Of course. You’re welcome to talk with anyone you’d like. You don’t have to follow any orders they give you, you know.”

“I know.” Crowley nodded quickly. “Gabriel trained me not to.”

Raphael winced. “Of course.” He rubbed his eyes. “I need to get back to work.”

Crowley thought of what the angel in the grove had said about Raphael spending too much time alone. He trailed after the Archangel. “Can I help, Master?”

“I’m afraid not. This is a one-person, entirely tedious, project.”

Crowley hesitated. “Can I… stay?”

Raphael flashed him a smile. “Of course. You’re welcome anytime.”

In the workroom, Crowley settled on the floor against the wall with his notebook and sketched out new designs for the ornamental garden.

Raphael absently reminded him he could use the furniture, then buried himself in work. 

Crowley looked up from time to time, entertained by the way Raphael murmured to himself and occasionally scolded his ingredients in the most polite language.

 _I should teach him to threaten plants,_ Crowley thought, feeling his first surge of affection for his master. Not a romantic sort. Something different. A tentative, trusting sort. As if… as if maybe Raphael really did only mean him kindness. And maybe the way to repay that kindness was to give the same in return.

It was something to contemplate as Crowley scrawled out ideas to make a bush happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This won't be the only time we see Raguel, so a couple of things about her. 
> 
> Some canons list Raguel as one of the seven Archangels, so I've made her one here. Although she has the same _function_ and abilities as Raguel in Gaiman's _Murder Mysteries_ , the characters are quite different (this one being female, sane, not responsible for the Rebellion, and not wandering the Earth with chopped-off wings). I'll probably put up a drawing of her the next time I do some sketching.


	10. Chapter 9

It had taken many evenings to get through Crowley’s time of blindness and the stretch after. He struggled through the day Gabriel had first called him a slave, and the day of his escape attempt which had led to his experience with the collar’s highest setting. He’d admitted to his eventual surrender – accepting his slave status and Gabriel’s mastery over him. 

Through it all, Raphael listened patiently. He asked questions when Crowley faltered, sometimes gently nudging the stories along, but mostly letting Crowley set the pace. They backtracked as often as they moved forward, sometimes with Crowley remembering incidents, or suddenly finding himself willing to speak of things he’d skipped before. Sometimes it was Raphael encouraging him to retell a story but to think about it differently.

Crowley didn’t dread the evening sessions. There was something about speaking his pain aloud which made the agony a little lighter. It was still there, still excruciatingly present in his mind. But someone else knew. Someone else… empathized. It helped.

The days of peace helped a great deal. Days filled with working in the garden, the chores Raphael assigned him, perusing the library, and roaming the grounds. The small freedoms of movement. Of choosing his clothes and locking his door. Reading a book or talking to a flower. Weeping when the memories came to him, and knowing he wouldn’t be hurt or mocked for his tears.

The story had reached the shift to the new room, and how Gabriel had left the bed for Crowley’s sole use. Until he’d finally demanded it with holy water and degradation. 

That was a rough night. They’d taken breaks twice – once for tea, once for walk. Crowley finished huddled in a corner with Raphael seated on the floor beside him. Raphael had brought him a blanket when Crowley had retreated to the floor, and he was almost comfortable in his cocoon. 

“I asked for it,” Crowley sobbed. “I invited him. I let him.”

Raphael shook his head. “Crowley, that wasn’t consent.” 

“But it was. I said…”

“He tortured you,” the Archangel insisted firmly. “Relentlessly. And not just that day. You took beating after beating to keep safe something precious to you. For him to say you asked for that… that’s a lie, Crowley.”

The demon shook his head frantically. To accuse Gabriel of anything...

For once Raphael didn’t back down or lead gently. He seemed genuinely incensed about Gabriel’s actions. “You were stolen from your life. He took everything you had, then gave you something just so he could rip that away too.” He reached out a hand, waited for Crowley’s nod of permission, then put his arms around the shaking demon. “You’re strong. You’re beautifully strong.”

“I should have held out…”

“You did. For so long. I saw your scars. I saw a fraction of what you went through. Anyone would break under what you suffered. That you held out - and kept holding out - is nothing short of incredible.” He dropped his arms and sat back, his face tilted downward in a meditative pose.

Cautiously, Crowley wriggled until he could rest his head against Raphael’s leg. The Archangel absently rested a hand on his arm. Crowley found the touch so very welcome.

“Such strange wording,” Raphael murmured, “insisting on an invitation.”

“He was kind in bed,” Crowley ventured. “Even… even though I didn’t want him to be.”

Raphael looked down at him quizzically. 

“He said he’d make it good for me. And… he did.” Crowley buried his head against Raphael’s leg. “He said I didn’t get to say no. Th-that my body was h-his. He made me say it. And he…” His throat seized up.

“Did he ever do that again?” the Archangel asked, once Crowley had some semblance of control over his emotions.

Crowley shook his head. 

Raphael rubbed his shoulder. “I wonder why. I hope he let you rest after that.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “Once he was done making the brand.”

The hand rubbing his arm froze. “Brand?”

Crowley nodded. “On my back. H-he said it made me his. Forever.” He began to shake again. “N-no matter what. If… if I was discorporated and got a new body, it-it would still be his. He owned me. My soul. Everything.” 

It was easier to tell that part than he expected. Mostly because something had clearly gone wrong. The eternal brand hadn’t been nearly as eternal as Gabriel claimed. 

“Maybe it went away because he died?” Crowley mused out loud. He wondered if Raphael had even seen it. Maybe it had already been gone? “Did you see it?” he asked cautiously.

“I saw it,” the Archangel replied grimly.

They sat on the floor for a long time, both lost in jumbled thoughts and seeming to take comfort in the presence of the other.

*****

Raphael tapped on Crowley’s bedroom door early the next morning. “I’m going to the city. I’ll be gone overnight, possibly longer, depending on how long my errands take.”

Crowley nodded. He wasn’t thrilled to be left alone, but he didn’t feel so terrified this time.

“You can come along if you’d like. I’ll be visiting the library. You could look for plant books. And visit the hospital again.”

Crowley hesitated. “Would you be with me the whole time?”

“I would probably have to leave you behind at least once. My room there is safe. No one would harm you. Same with the hospital wing if you’d rather not be alone.”

Crowley weighed that discomfort. He slowly nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

Crowley had flown most days since coming to the estate. Sometimes just short flights from his room down to the gardens, sometimes longer flights around the grounds. He felt stronger, but he hadn’t really pushed his wings since that first flight.

They had to rest twice on the way. Crowley could see Raphael deliberately setting a slow pace, but Crowley made it to the city without completely exhausting himself.

It was unnerving to be around so many angels. And the way they stared at him. He kept close on his master’s heels, carefully keeping his eyes down and posture meek. 

It belatedly occurred to him to be afraid of encountering Michael. What if she was looking for him?

The library was an absolute relief. Pleasant lighting. The familiar scent of books. The librarian who descended on them with the protective rumble of a mother bear and looked offended that either of them wanted to _touch_ her books.

Raphael received mild scrutiny before he was allowed to peruse books on ancient customs of Heaven. Crowley required far more interrogation and demonstration he could remove books from the shelf without twisting their covers, could turn the pages properly (NEVER lick fingers before turning pages and NEVER dog-ear the corners) and didn’t have any foods, liquids, open wounds, pens, or pus on his person.

Crowley was thoroughly intimidated by her, but he felt none of the shame-terror of those who were hostile to him for what he was. He suspected (rightly as he saw when another angel requested a book) that she treated everyone as a potentially dangerous invader to her precious library. 

Still, she found him the books he needed and provided him with a workspace near Raphael. 

He had a good hour of unbroken peace, finally identifying some of the unknown plants, when the library’s tranquility was broken by Raphael lunging from his chair and swearing furiously at the book before him.

Raphael very nearly got kicked out of the library. He was absolutely denied the right to check a book out.

Crowley felt a little smug when he walked out with a book under his arm, having successfully filled out the proper forms in triplicate to keep the book overnight (demons were EXCELLENT at legal-ese) while Raphael was on one-month probation from going anywhere near the library.

“Would you like _me_ to check it out for you?” Crowley asked with his absolute first attempt at teasing since his tongue had been burned out the first time.

“No!” Raphael snapped. He startled and hastily mumbled an apology, breaking off when he noticed Crowley’s grin. 

The prolonged flight had worn Crowley down, and he went to his bed the moment they arrived in Raphael's room. Raphael soon departed for a meeting, leaving Crowley alone.

Crowley found he couldn’t be at peace. His collar and joint rings were still sitting on the shelf above Raphael’s desk. He spent the hours while Raphael was away seated on his bed, trying to read, and glancing fretfully at the collar every few seconds.

It didn’t take long after Raphael’s return for him to notice the trajectory of Crowley’s frequent glances. 

“I’m sorry,” the Archangel said at once. “I’ll get rid of those.” 

He shoved the offending objects into a bag and hurried them out.

Crowley was apologetic when he returned. “I’m sorry to cause you trouble,” he mumbled. “I didn’t think you’d _use_ them. I just…”

“It’s not your fault,” Raphael insisted firmly. “There are bad memories associated with those. This is a safe space for you. It shouldn’t hold torture devices.”

Crowley smiled tentatively and properly focused on the book at last.

He did alright until Raphael retired to his bedroom. At that point, the sheer _closeness_ to the locations in which he’d suffered began to weigh on him. 

After tossing for a while, he cautiously knocked on the bedroom door. “Master?” 

Raphael guessed the problem at the sight of the demon’s troubled face. “Can’t sleep?”

Crowley shook his head. “Can I stay in here?” he asked anxiously. “I’ll sleep on the floor. I’ll be very quiet.”

“You can have half the bed if you want,” the Archangel offered. “It’s big enough.”

Crowley gave him a look of alarm. “Can… can I just be on the floor?”

Raphael reluctantly consented, and Crowley soon burrowed gratefully beneath a blanket. 

Raphael left the bedside lamp on, not even suggesting darkness. He’d clearly noticed Crowley always slept with a light. Crowley glanced gratefully at the light from time to time as he finally relaxed enough to sleep.

*****

It occurred to Crowley later to wonder why neither of them had considered simply miracling a couch from the main room into the bedroom. He knew Raphael didn’t go much for frivolous miracles, but...

For the first time Crowley wondered if he _could_ use his powers. He hadn’t tried anything since Raphael had removed his collar. Did demonic powers work in Heaven?

More importantly, was he allowed? Surely even Raphael’s tolerance would be strained if Crowley started snapping his fingers.

He resolved to do nothing of the sort.

*****

They spent the bulk of the next day in the hospital wing. Crowley enjoyed listening to the old warrior angel again, and actually properly conversing now that he felt brave enough to make extended responses. The other patients were curious about him, obviously eager for any distraction from monotony. The nursing staff was courteous, seeming to believe that if Raphael vouched for him, he was at least a ‘tame’ demon.

The evening brought a new first.

“Master, I don’t think you can fly all the way.”

Raphael sank weakly back into the chair he’d been trying to rise from. “I want to go home,” he rumbled. “And this place isn’t doing you any favors.”

True, Crowley had been on edge since they arrived. “One more night won’t make a difference to me,” he insisted. “And I can’t fly quickly. We’ll be out late. You know I don’t do well in the dark.”

What he was not saying was that Raphael had clearly overexerted himself at the hospital and desperately needed rest, not a long-distance flight across Heaven. 

Raphael’s eyes sank closed. “Tempter,” he mumbled with no malice in the word.

It stung, even though Crowley knew Raphael meant nothing by it. Such a thing might have been a term of endearment once. Now such an accusation was saturated in Gabriel’s venom and clawed cruelly at Crowley’s mind. At least by now Crowley could rationalize enough to know Raphael would never say such a thing if he was alert, and the use of such a loaded word was further proof he wasn’t coherent enough for a lengthy flight.

He nudged Raphael to bed, tucking the Archangel in and turning off the bedside lamp. He left the bedroom door cracked and the lights on in the main room, which gave him enough light to keep from panicking. 

Curled up on the floor, he forced his body to relax.

_It’s alright,_ he murmured to himself. _There’s no Gabriel to hurt you anymore. And even if Michael’s out there, this room is safe. Master is safe. And tomorrow we’ll be home again._

He wondered, as he drifted off, when the estate had become Home.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to Gabriel/Crowley flashbacks. So, warning for all the fun that brings - mostly torture of the physical and psychological kind. It's still overarching narrative, so nothing too extreme. Enjoy!

_Training for the test began immediately._

_Gabriel pushed Crowley’s head from his lap the moment Crowley seemed halfway in control of his emotions and briskly set to work._

_He tied Crowley’s wrists behind his back and secured a blindfold over the demon’s eyes. “Stand,” he ordered._

_Crowley hastily obeyed, fighting the weariness of his wounded body and the emotional upheaval he’d just been through. He didn’t understand at all what was happening. Only one thing mattered – giving Gabriel absolutely everything he wanted._

_Gabriel’s orders were short and direct. At his commands, Crowley walked in whatever direction Gabriel ordered – sometimes walking a set number of paces, sometimes walking until Gabriel commanded him to stop._

_He was turned around so many times he soon had no idea where he was. At some point he recognized that he was no longer in his cell, but he was looped around so often in the hallway that he couldn’t guess if he was far from the cell, or right outside the door._

_It was hard to concentrate through the dizziness in his head. It was hard to keep his balance on his wounded feet. But he had to focus. There were consequences if he didn’t._

_Every time he moved left instead of right, or slowed when he thought he might be nearing a wall, or stumbled out of his directed path, the collar would fire. Not a terrific burst. Just 04 or 05. Enough to send a jolt of reprimand through his body without driving him to the ground._

_Eventually he knelt in the cell again._

_Gabriel removed the blindfold and brought out his blessed knife._

_Crowley shook, certain he was about to lose his eyes and not daring to so much as whimper._

_Gabriel didn’t take his eyes. He took his blood._

_He cut a gash in Crowley’s neck and held the demon’s head as blood cascaded to the ground. When the stone was dark with several liters, Gabriel stopped the flow and healed the wound. A snap of his fingers eliminated the spilt blood. He released his grip on Crowley, who dropped helplessly to the ground. Without a word, Gabriel departed._

_Crowley lay in a spinning world, more aware of his delirium-induced visions than reality. He drifted in and out, watching shapes and nightmares swirl past his eyes. Eventually he collected enough of his mind to reach his knees. That was his last coherent thought before unreality took him._

_Crowley’s world became a twisted hellscape which made no sense. Sometimes the cell was so brilliantly bright that he had to clutch his hands over his eyes. Other times, he awoke in pitch blackness and would fight down the terrified screams of certainty that his eyes were gone._

_There were noises. Scratchings and whispers right next to his ears which made him flinch away from… nothing. There was never anything there. Once there was screaming which went on and on while Crowley clutched his hands over his mouth, certain he’d be punished for the noise and utterly unsure if he was the one making it. Often strange voices hurled condemnations at him, decrying his sins and his foulness until he covered his ears and sobbed silently._

_Sometimes there were orders he knew he shouldn’t follow, even when they threatened him with all manner of torture if he didn't. Sometimes the voices spoke in detail about Heavenly plans and he struggled not to listen._

_Sometimes the temperature plummeted until Crowley’s teeth wouldn’t stop rattling. He hugged his wings around himself and cried frozen tears until he was granted relief._

_Sometimes voices whispered of Earth and things he’d once loved. Sometimes he saw images or caught fleeting scents which stirred a longing within him. Always after came pain and waves of despair. Of disgrace for disrespecting his master by allowing his mind to imagine lies. Of shame for ever believing he was better than he was. Of terror of what he’d lose if he didn’t keep focused on the true path._

_Swiftly and desperately, he trained his mind away from the slightest whisper of remembered falsehoods. There was only one truth. One constant in the world gone mad. Only one thing which mattered._

_That was Gabriel._

_Gabriel was always solidly real – whether testing, hurting, or raping his slave. The light and temperature were always steady in Gabriel’s presence, and many of the bewildering noises went away. Crowley clung to him as much as Gabriel allowed, listening breathlessly for any word Gabriel spoke, desperate to follow any order which might give him clarity._

_There were orders. Directions. Always with the purpose of placing Crowley’s every movement under Gabriel’s control._

_He walked everywhere blindfolded and with his hands bound. Sometimes Gabriel brought him to new places and turned him loose to follow commands. Crowley never knew where he was or what to expect._

_All he knew was Gabriel’s voice, and only Gabriel’s voice, was to be obeyed. Whether or not it brought pain._

_The other voices always brought pain. When he tried to follow them, he’d receive a sharp blast from the collar. Same as when he failed to follow Gabriel’s commands or showed any hesitation. Gabriel was to be obeyed immediately and enthusiastically. No matter what._

_At first the voices were clearly not Gabriel’s, but gradually they began to sound similar. Crowley listened desperately, gradually becoming entirely attuned to his master’s voice, his footsteps, his scent. His world oriented entirely to Gabriel, more than it had before. Before, there had been an aversion. A desire to stay away from the Archangel. Now all Crowley dreamed of was the clarity of his master’s presence._

_He knew, dimly, that it was Gabriel who kept him off-balance and trapped in this world of chaos. Gabriel took his blood every few sessions, leaving him perpetually weak and dizzy. And that wasn’t all._

_Several times, a bottle was pressed to his lips, and he drank something which made his world spin. Often, he was chained on a downward incline, which made the blood rush to his head, or he was suspended in weird, shifting positions, which left him no certainty of up and down._

_Throughout it all, Crowley remained as silent as he could. Crowley’s voice had no use in this twisted world. Only Gabriel’s mattered._

_In the times of coherency, Crowley found some small things to be thankful for. The rules had stopped changing so often – he could usually keep up with the shifting demands. Gabriel didn’t winch his wings or whip him. Other tests – subservient postures and silence under torture – were largely absent. Gabriel wanted only one thing from him, and Crowley eagerly provided, grateful for every session which passed without additional torture to his body._

_Gabriel continued to rape him, of course. Though, not as often. Crowley was impossibly weak. Try as he might, he often couldn’t hold himself onto his hands and knees, or upright against the wall, with Gabriel’s weight pressed against him._

_Gabriel resorted to chaining him up by the arms._

_“I like you like this,” Gabriel observed, playing his knife across Crowley’s vulnerably exposed side. “I wonder what you look like on the inside.” He came around in front of the demon, tracing a slender line over the stretched torso. “Does your corporation have all the human parts? Kidneys? Liver?”_

_“I don’t know, Master,” Crowley whimpered miserably._

_“We could find out, couldn’t we? Gut you open and take a look. If I’m fast, I might get it all put back before you discorporate.” Gabriel pressed the blade to one side of Crowley’s face while he stroked the other side with a gentle finger. “Would you like to find out, Sweetheart?”_

_Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and fought not to sob. “Whatever pleases you, Master.”_

_Gabriel patted his cheek. “Good boy. And do you know what would please me?” He came around behind him and gripped Crowley’s hips hard enough to bruise. “Is for you to not pass out this time. Am I boring you? I can find ways to make sure you’re wide awake.”_

_Crowley swore his obedience and tried to keep focused on reality as the thrusting began._

_Gradually, reality came closer to the surface. Crowley learned to shut out every voice which wasn’t Gabriel’s, deny everything which wasn’t his master’s commands. No matter how loud or vicious the cacophony, he faithfully followed his master alone._

_Gabriel brought him often to the room in which Crowley understood the test would take place. He might have memorized the course if Gabriel hadn’t regularly changed the directions. Still, he knew roughly where most of the painful objects were placed. Gabriel did enjoy adding new surprises. It kept him alert._

_Whatever path he took, the course always ended with the pool of holy water._

_If Crowley’s performance pleased Gabriel, the Archangel healed him before they left the room. If he wasn’t pleased, Crowley would be made to return to the cell, left until the next session, and required to run the course again before Gabriel would consent to healing him._

_“The one thing I can’t prepare you for is Michael,” Gabriel said one day after they’d returned to the cell. Gabriel lounged in a chair. Crowley lay huddled in a ball at Gabriel’s feet – his reward for a session well done was a brief break from his knees and a few minutes of peace in his master’s presence._

 _“Michael has the power to_ make _someone obey. She’ll undoubtedly try to make you fail. If she’s subtle, you might not even notice. You’ll just feel you_ should _obey whatever she says. But you know better, don’t you?”_

_“Yes, Master,” Crowley panted immediately._

_“If she really uses her power, you’ll find it nearly impossible to move. She’ll force you to halt, to disobey me. You don’t want that, do you, Crowley?”_

_“No, Master.”_

_“So, if you hear Michael, what should you do?”_

_“Obey you and only you. Even if I feel like I should obey her. Even if my body is trying to obey her.”_

_“Good, Sweetheart. I think you’re ready.”_

_The next time Gabriel came to the cell, he healed Crowley completely and clothed him._

_“Sit up,” he ordered, scrutinizing Crowley’s posture for the first time since the training had begun. “Remain exactly like that until I come back,” he said once he was satisfied. “Michael will be with me. You know what to do.”_

_He crouched down and ran a hand along the demon’s face. “This is it,” he murmured softly. “I’ve given you everything you need to pass. If you fail me this time, it’ll be your fault what happens next. There will be no more second chances. No more mercy.”_

_Crowley trembled and fought to maintain his composure._

_When Gabriel returned, it was exactly as he’d said. Michael immediately tried to make Crowley fail. He focused on the only thing important and escaped her trap._

_Then to the obstacle course, where a dozen voices tried to confuse him and lead him astray. Crowley could have laughed at their efforts. The world wasn’t spinning. He knew up and down. He’d been through so much worse than their poor impressions. Even when Gabriel’s voice led him to pain – some of which he hadn’t expected – Crowley never wavered._

_He knew he was approaching the holy water, and his steps quickened. This was the last thing. Just the pain of the water, and then he’d know if he was worthy or not. Just the water…_

_And Michael tried to force him to fail!_

_He strained against her command, fighting hard to reach the water. He had to please Gabriel. Had to prove his obedience. Had to be worthy of mercy._

_“Stop,” he heard Gabriel order just after Michael’s power left him._

_He halted, fighting down the agony broiling through him which demanded relief. Fighting down the desperate desire to scream. Gabriel wished to watch him burn. That was all that mattered._

_At last Gabriel commanded him to move. Soon, Crowley huddled at Gabriel’s feet. He bit deep into his lip, waiting breathlessly for his master’s condemnation or approval._

_“Good boy," the Archangel said at last. "I’m pleased.”_

_Crowley didn’t think he’d ever heard anything more beautiful._

_He let out a tiny sob of relief, flinching in fear that the sound had ruined everything. But Gabriel’s hand was gentle on his head as his grace flooded the exhausted demon, giving him respite at last from the suffering and fear._

_Crowley was still blindfolded when they departed. He walked wherever Gabriel’s light touch on his arm directed. He felt a rush of hope when the floor beneath him turned to carpet. Could it be…?!_

_He fought down a sob of thankfulness when Gabriel removed the blindfold and Crowley was confronted with the sight of his warm room and soft bed once more. He was back! He’d endured the pain and been granted this utterly undeserved mercy from his suffering._

_He was impossibly grateful to Gabriel, going eagerly to the bed at his master’s direction and holding himself still and silent despite his exhaustion as Gabriel roughly made up for the times recently when he’d abstained from using his slave._

_The threats after only made Crowley more desperate to obey, desperate to please._

_As he lay on the floor after Gabriel departed, he thought only thoughts of gratitude and devotion for his master. His master was pleased with him again! His past failures were erased. He had a second chance. A last chance._

_He’d do anything to maintain his master’s approval._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be an update on Wednesday of art and comics. A few people have done fanart of the story (eeek!) and I have some other nonsense to post, including several more installments of Snake!Crowley and Reluctant!Gabriel comic adventures (as I've decided to call them).
> 
> New chapter coming on Saturday with something many of you have been asking for...


	12. Art and Comics

Art day! I didn't do a lot of sketching, but I was in quite the comic mood, and I have some art from YOU WONDERFUL READERS to show off. I'm so touched you guys are enjoying this story, and that some have been inspired to draw!

* * *

**Character Sketches by Me**

**Raguel**

For Raguel, I tried to make her a combination of the classic Lady Justice statues and the generic gritty television detective. Wavy, dark blond hair. Usually wears it up, but it's usually escaping from its bun. Work clothes based around the current time period. Probably dresses more like the Justice statues when she's in court, but she never looks particularly comfortable in nice clothes. She has a stocky build, small piercing eyes, a somewhat Roman nose, and is a little shorter than Michael.

* * *

**Fan Art**

**Raphael**  
By [UnearthedDawn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnearthedDawn/pseuds/UnearthedDawn)  
[Original Post](https://www.reddit.com/user/xanadoodles/comments/entx7n/just_a_thing/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share)  
I love that you guys liked my design for Raphael! Enough to inspire drawing. I love seeing how someone else interprets my scribbles and descriptions.

**Flowers for Patience**  
By [DivaLorenzo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DivaLorenzo/pseuds/DivaLorenzo)  
[Original Post](https://www.instagram.com/p/B7b5FK7FKyT/?igshid=v83qih2v4btn)  
Such a lovely moment of healing for Crowley on his way to recovery! He takes so much comfort from plants. From DivaLorenzo's description - "The flowers are chamomile and I read that it means patience in flower language. It symbolizes Crowley's journey to recovery requires patience and time."

**A Little Unsteady**  
By [onecoolcactus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onecoolcactus/pseuds/onecoolcactus)  
[Original Post](https://onecoolcactus.tumblr.com/post/190336098292/a-little-unsteady-a-scene-from-the-good)  
This one's from [Serpent Delivery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054990/chapters/45262585), but I wanted to show it off since I was given it this week too, and I love it! It's Lucifer and Crowley sharing a quiet moment in [Chapter 57](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054990/chapters/47670202) while Hell falls apart around them.

* * *

**Comics**

**Adventures of Snake!Crowley and Reluctant!Gabriel**  
It's _Repossession_ , except Crowley is a snake and Gabriel is not getting paid enough to care about this. 

**Chapter 1: The Right Angel for the Job**

**Chapter 2: Hit Me Baby One More Time**

**Chapter 3: May Consume Random Objects**

**Chapter 4: Show Me on the Doll...**

I don't know why I interpreted Gabriel's slicked back hair as a cowlick, but I'm committed now.

I don't know how long I'll keep drawing this silliness. I know how the comics will end if I get that far, but I don't really have plans for the middle, so feel free to suggest prompts.

Okay, that's it for the art nonsense. New chapter coming on Saturday. Till then, thanks everyone for reading, and thanks to the artists. You guys make me feel loved.


	13. Chapter 11

Raphael glanced back as he flew away, aware of Crowley watching him from the balcony. He’d told the demon he’d only be gone a few hours, but Crowley had followed him like an anxious puppy through the house until the angel had spread his wings and taken to the air.

It concerned him – the strong possibility of the demon becoming wholly emotionally dependent upon him. He’d have to find more ways to get Crowley out of the house.

The visit to the central region of Heaven had gone about as well as he’d expected. He’d been relieved Crowley had done so well in the library and hospital – not attempting to kneel a single time and maintaining social interactions with multiple angels. 

But every successful interaction went on within Raphael’s line of sight. Once, in the hospital, he’d moved further on while Crowley was still listening to a patient. The demon had come frantically running after him, his mouth quivering with unspoken apologies and relief openly displayed in his expression.

Abandonment issues were not at all surprising.

Honestly, the rehabilitation was going better than Raphael had expected. When he’d first seen the naked and abused demon huddled in the cell, afraid to so much as lift his eyes, Raphael had wondered if this would prove a lost cause. That within a short time the same demon would be taking solo flights to the far end of the estate, carrying on conversations with strangers, willingly returning to the region of his abuse, and speaking candidly about his suffering was nothing short of miraculous.

Raphael knew he shouldn’t push things along faster than they were progressing, but some days he wished progress would not include so much backsliding.

In the first days, he’d easily identified the three heavily trained behaviors Crowley defaulted to whenever frightened. No eye contact, no speaking unless ordered, and kneeling at all times were his sticking points, and he was openly terrified to break those rules.

Speech was reliably getting easier. Raphael encouraged him to talk, and Crowley’s hunger for social interaction pressured him to respond. He’d begun giving longer answers fairly quickly. Speaking out of turn and asking questions followed shortly thereafter. At first his initiated statements were breathless whispers, accompanied by cringing at anticipated beatings. When speech was encouraged, he responded with more.

Eye contact… was still a non-existent thing. Even with the glasses, Raphael knew whenever Crowley made eye contact since his immediate reaction was a violent flinch and a lowering of his body posture. Raphael’s unconcern hadn’t diminished the behavior, although Crowley’s recovery time from accidental glances was improving. Considering he’d had his eyes burned out, and been held in check with threats of a repeated punishment, his fear was reasonable.

Kneeling… that was what came in waves.

At the start Crowley knelt constantly. It had taken a couple days for Raphael to realize Crowley wasn’t hurrying to get on his knees at Raphael’s approach – he was staying that way for _hours_ on end and wouldn’t move without a command. Raphael had ignored the behavior in hopes it would go away on its own. 

The change of location had helped… somewhat. Crowley still knelt at the sight of him. But he didn’t feel as compelled to stay on the ground after the initial submissive display. On good days he’d get up and resume whatever he was doing as soon as Raphael passed by. On very good days he wouldn’t wait for Raphael to leave the room before rising. On bad days, well, Crowley could hold a pose for a disturbingly long time with absolutely no encouragement. 

His rigidity of posture had slackened. Doubled over with his face mashed to the floor was his terrified, utter show of deference. He’d start there, but over a few days his posture would grow sloppier, sometimes shifting to sitting upright with his head bowed. Then something would set him off, and he’d return to crushing his face into the dirt.

The return to the default pose continued to happen on a regular schedule (to the point Raphael suspected it was becoming stereotypical), but his recovery periods were shortening. That was progress, wasn’t it?

Some days Raphael felt hope. Some days he was overwhelmed with worries.

And then there were the days like this. The days when he wished this project had been given to someone else.

*****

“The data confirms it,” Raphael said. “He doesn’t know precisely _when_ things happened, or the span of time in between, but the points he can put in order are confirmed by the collar readouts, and his perception of time certainly confirms what was going on.”

“I wish it didn’t,” Raguel muttered.

The two Archangels sat on opposite sides of a battered desk. Crowley’s collar and the collar’s manual lay between them. Also on the desk was an hour-by-hour printout of the collar data – twenty-two months of it collected over a duration which should have lasted two months, if one was counting days as containing only twenty fours.

According to the data, days rarely contained so few hours. 

“And this is only when Gabriel didn’t halt Crowley in time,” Raphael observed. “We don’t know how long Gabriel was manipulating things before the project.”

Raguel sighed. “And Crowley has no idea?”

Raphael shook his head. “Gabriel kept him in locations with no windows and perpetually dim lighting. Likely intentionally to skewer his sense of time. He certainly believes he’s been gone well over a year.”

Raguel rested her head between her splayed fingers. “I need to know what he’s telling you.”

Raphael’s expression tightened. He shook his head.

Raguel glared back, not raising her head from its weary pose.

Of the Archangels who’d been created at the beginning with functions to guide Heaven and its denizens, Raphael thought Raguel had remained the most steadfast to their original function.

Raguel had been created to administer the justice of their Creator, back in the beginning times before the Creator stepped away to let **Her** children figure out things on their own. Raguel had been Heaven’s first investigator and its first judge. She’d created the first laws of conduct and punishment, most of which were still in play.

When humanity rose out of their infancy, Raguel had taught them law. She hadn’t taught right and wrong, but she’d helped them move past the early barbarism of kill-or-be-killed. She taught order. Fairness. Law. Policing. Things which could be tools to make a society fair and upright… or oppressive and cruel.

Funny how humans quickly learned that swords swung both ways.

Perhaps that was why, in the human’s depictions, Justice carried both scales and a sword. 

As Heaven had become… bureaucratic and self-satisfied in its ways, Raguel had quietly retreated. She didn’t change with the times. She was still the highest court in Heaven (aside from their Creator) and all appeals went to her. Occasionally she heard cases. Occasionally she still investigated. Mostly she stayed out of the way unless summoned.

In some ways, Raphael had followed a similar path. He was Heaven’s healer. Though he’d existed before the Rebellion, the time after was when he’d come into his own. The time in which the wounds of Heaven were raw. When emotions ran high and minds couldn’t process the pain. When injuries – both physical and mental – abounded beyond anyone’s ability to cope. That was when Raphael had stepped forward to soothe.

He’d taught healing. He’d listened. He’d repaired, and he’d taught others to repair. He’d descended to Earth and taught the healing crafts. He’d walked close with the young Earth, infusing plants with powers to soothe and encouraging minds to creativity. He’d loved his Creator’s favored creation.

That had been a long time ago.

Now Raphael’s visits to Earth were few and far between. There were so many humans. There was so much pain. Technology had rushed ahead, leaving Raphael bewildered. He knew if he spent more time on the planet, he could catch up and understand what humans now attempted. But every time he descended to Earth, he felt the clamor of prayers for relief from more suffering than he could ever ease. Just walking the planet for a few hours drained him beyond endurance.

The main areas of Heaven felt little better. He felt out of place and lost. 

He’d spent more and more time alone on his estate. He labored constantly to send small healings to Earth, to ease what little he could. But fear of pain held him apart from his brethren.

Up until a few months ago, he’d very much envied Gabriel and Michael. With more skill than the other Archangels, they’d changed and adapted with the times, seemingly keeping aware of their purpose while guiding Heaven towards its destiny.

That was before discovering they’d decided part of Heaven’s destiny involved war crimes. 

“I need answers,” Raguel rumbled.

Raphael kept his gaze steady and resolute. “I won’t violate my oath.”

Raguel blew out an angry breath and lunged from her chair.

Raphael impassively watched her pace.

Raguel began to rant as she stalked around the room. “Look at it from my perspective. I have five angels in lock-up, two murders, multiple assaults, multiple accusations of war crimes against at least two Archangels – and I’m not convinced Uriel’s as innocent as she claims. My Hell counterpart is demanding information and access to the accused. And the _primary witness_ to everything...” She whirled on Raphael with a glare. “…is picking herbs in your garden, and you won’t let me near him!”

Raphael waited a long beat. “Are you done?”

Raguel threw herself back into her chair. “Yes,” she huffed. “Your turn.”

Raphael leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “Crowley is… extremely fragile right now. He’s making progress, but he’s still deeply mired in his training and the terror of what will happen if he makes the slightest mistake. He barely trusts me. That he does at all in such a short time is remarkable considering what he’s been through.”

“Which you won’t tell me about.”

“Which I won’t tell you about,” Raphael agreed. “It’s his story to tell, and unless he authorizes me to share it, I will not violate his trust.”

Raguel glared at him.

Raphael could see the dueling beliefs in her mind. On the one hand, Raguel respected an oath and respected Raphael for keeping his charge safe. On the other, she was absolutely relentless in pursuing the truth and was infuriated to be kept from a ripe source of information.

“What can you tell me?” she asked at last.

“You have my original assessment of his condition," Raphael replied. "I’ll say so far everything he’s told me fits with the injuries I saw. Including _when_. I noted then that many of those scars seemed far too old for the timeline as we first understood it.”

"So, now you think Gabriel caused all the injuries?"

"I'm sure of it. The age of the brand was the thing I couldn't understand at the start. Now it makes sense."

Raguel sighed. “There goes my theory that he’s a masochist and came with those scars.”

“I told you that he didn’t seem like the type.”

Raguel let out a small snort. “You trust too easily.”

“Just because he’s a demon…”

“I don’t mean that. You see a broken thing, and you’re on their side immediately. Look how fast you took the restraints off.”

“His reaction to Gabriel wasn’t violent…”

“And the collar as soon as you learned how.”

“He deserved to have options…”

“Running off to Earth and leaving him unattended.”

“Adnarel called me for a consult…”

“Where is he now?”

Raphael shrugged. “Somewhere on the estate.”

Raguel leaned forward, her expression serious. “Don’t get attached,” she insisted. 

Raphael’s placid look hardened. “I have my function. Same as you.”

“Don’t destroy yourself fulfilling it,” Raguel grumbled. “I worry about you.”

“What?” Raphael’s eyebrows rose. “Feeling attached?”

The justice of Heaven rolled her eyes. She looked down at the desk and spoke with businesslike gruffness. “I have the datasheets, and now you’ve given me the collar. Do you know how far into the story Crowley’s told you?”

Raphael turned the printouts around and ran his finger along the numbers until he found the level 10 spike. “Past this… and before this.” He tapped a long spike at 08. 

Raguel turned the sheet around. “A steady 01 or 02 between,” she observed. “Does that mean Gabriel was playing nice with him for that long?”

“I think it means Gabriel preferred a more hands-on approach than the collar.”

Raguel’s expression turned grim. She was silent for a long moment. “I wanted to believe we were better than this,” she said quietly.

“I don’t think we’re any higher than any other creation. No matter what we tell ourselves.”

Raguel looked up after a moment’s weary reflection. “You’re not even halfway through his ‘training’,” she grumbled. “How long before you’ll give me something useful?”

“It takes as long as it takes.”

“I could have the whole story in three hours if you’d leave him alone with me.”

“And that’s why that will never happen,” Raphael replied mildly.

Raguel muttered and looked away. 

“Patience,” Raphael murmured. “You have plenty to do and other information to chase down.”

Raguel acknowledged this with a nod. “What I need to know _now_ is who else was involved. We have the main players, but who else assisted? Who else did they tell? If I give you names, can you at least sound out the demon and see if there’s a reaction? I don’t need details. Just confirm if he knows the names and if they might have been involved in the project.”

Raphael nodded. “I can do that, yes. Who do you want to know about?”

“Uriel, definitely. And Sandalphon. He was always close to Gabriel. So far I haven’t found anything linking him to the project, but I need to know if that’s true. And Gabriel and Michael’s assistants… I have their names somewhere around here.” She rummaged through a pile of notes.

“They’ve set up a temporary council,” Raguel said abruptly. “But Heaven’s in disarray. No one’s sure who to trust or what’s going on. The council hasn’t made an official statement yet regarding why two Archangels are just… gone. We need to tell everyone something soon. I need some confessions and I need leverage.”

“I thought Michael was cooperating.” 

“I don’t know if she’s telling the truth! Unless I can confirm it with something like this-” Raguel stabbed a finger on the collar data. “Crowley’s the purest source we have thanks to his ignorance of _how_ he was being manipulated. We can confirm if he tells the truth, at least in relation to time and the collar usage.”

“I can tell you he hasn’t lied so far,” Raphael offered. “Not about anything on these sheets. And he was the one who provided the clues that Gabriel was manipulating time.”

Raguel nodded. “Just give me something I can use. If you can confirm that no one on the temporary council was involved… that would be something. I need to know how deep this plan was spread around. I need to know who has the knowledge to build the collars.”

“Do you have the other prototypes?”

Raguel nodded. “All safely locked away with lions guarding. These are never being used on anyone again.” Her lips curled back in disgust. “What a devious… disgusting… unangelic plot…”

“We’ll get through this.” Raphael gripped her hand. “This won’t bring down Heaven.”

Raguel looked up, her eyes hooded and sad. “If this is all we really are… maybe it should.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did that answer your questions? Or just leave you gritting your teeth and demanding more? You're welcome...


	14. Chapter 12

Telling of how he’d attempted discorporation took several sessions to get through. Raphael wanted to know Crowley’s thought process for why and how, and why he hadn’t tried it sooner. That led to discussing what Crowley thought awaited him in Hell, and questions of had Crowley ever been discorporated before. He hadn’t. Crowley then asked if Raphael had ever been discorporated – he had. And he was willing to share that story. Which led to more talk of Raphael’s work on Earth, which put the Archangel in a melancholy mood. Crowley suggested they walk (Raphael’s usual solution for when the memories started to overwhelm Crowley). They did, and Raphael shared quite a bit more. Crowley wondered how long it had been since Raphael related his suffering to another soul.

_I guess he has me for that now,_ Crowley thought, and found he wasn’t opposed to the idea of being the Archangel’s moral support and assistant. He’d anticipated a far worse fate. 

It wasn’t until the next night that they’d reached the consequence of Crowley’s escape attempt. He’d been surprised at how much the memory hurt. Not the pain from the collar – the part where he’d begged Gabriel for help and the angel had walked away.

“He left me,” Crowley whispered, feeling how much that stung. Even with everything else Gabriel had done, that act of… of betrayal. “I deserved it,” he stammered. “He was right… I-I tried to escape… But the way h-he walked away…” 

Raphael held him for a long time while he sobbed out that helpless feeling of being abandoned by the only one who could have helped him. 

That was as far as they got until the next night. 

Crowley breezed past the return to relentless testing and suffering. It hadn’t been anything new, really. He could cover it in broad strokes. 

That led to the wings. 

“He… he said I was ready for more freedom,” Crowley mumbled, gripping his arms tight around himself. “And then… the next day…” He took a long breath. “He gave me back my clothes for the first time… and took me to… another room…”

Getting through the agony of having his wings wrenched out of joint and the rings inserted was as slow and painful a process as the procedure had been.

“He held me afterwards,” Crowley remarked. He was always quick to mention when Gabriel had been kind. “He said he was pleased with me. And he made me feel it. With the mark.”

“You mentioned that before,” Raphael said with a frown. “What do you mean about the mark?”

“It was…” Crowley struggled to explain. “It was a thing he’d do. Because we were connected, I guess. He’d touch the brand, and I’d know… I’d _feel_ how angry he was. Or when he was pleased. He could let me feel that too. And I’d know I’d… I’d been good for him. Pleased him.” Crowley hugged his arms tighter around himself. The memories of Gabriel’s approval still felt good. 

“And he never did that before he branded you?”

Crowley gave Raphael a look of confusion. “No… he couldn’t before.” 

He studied Raphael’s face. The Archangel’s hand was pressed to his eyes. His expression had darkened with a look of pain and rising anger. 

“Is that…” Crowley felt a tremor of fear. “Am I wrong?”

Raphael dropped his hand and turned to Crowley. He was shaking and visibly upset. “How much do you understand about Archangels?” 

Crowley squirmed. “I… I wasn’t really involved with the big guys… back when I lived here before.”

Raphael managed a fleeting smile before his face turned grave again. 

Crowley continued cautiously. “Weren’t you guys made to… boss around the rest of us?” He ducked his head with a rush of unease. He was getting reckless with his mouth. How swiftly he’d forgotten his lessons.

“Some of us,” Raphael agreed, as usual showing no concern for Crowley’s disrespectful speech. “We were imbued with _function_. And additional powers to facilitate our purposes.”

Crowley nodded slowly. “Is that why you could heal my scars? The holy water ones?”

Raphael nodded. “Yes. Most angels can heal. I have more skills than any other in that regard.” He didn’t sound particularly proud, just stating facts.

Crowley recalled a somewhat similar conversation. “Gabriel said Michael could _make_ people do what she wanted.”

“That’s a crude way of putting it. Michael commands the armies of Heaven. She can direct the whole army with very few words. And call a halt in an emergency. Or, yes, pressure someone to act according to her will. At least briefly. She’s far better at directing crowds than forcing an individual.” He sighed. “Of course, Heaven and Earth have changed a great deal since we were created. We’ve shifted from our original purposes – to extreme degrees in some cases.”

“Extreme degrees?”

“I don’t think Gabriel’s been called upon to use his function in centuries.”

Crowley studied the table. “He was the messenger, right? ‘ _Fear not_ ’ and all that?”

“Exactly, Crowley. Making a whole group of humans feel unafraid. Or feel the might of the Creator or the shame of their actions just through his presence.”

Crowley went cold and still. “He could do that?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yes. I’ve felt him do it.” Raphael’s cadence turned stormy, a look of fury on his face. His hands clenched into fists. “He’s meant to manipulate emotions to _aid_ others. To calm a crowd. Or stir up a weary group. Or warn someone they’d deviated from the honest path. He doesn’t need a mark.” 

Crowley shook. He felt those phantom fingers slide their way down his back, saw the gleam of rage in Gabriel’s eyes just before he pressed down and _swamped_ Crowley with his fury and contempt. 

“Master…” Crowley whimpered, pawing at the air in Raphael’s direction, even as his body slipped from the chair toward the floor.

Raphael’s arms were around him at once, holding him tight as the waves of confusion and terror passed through him. 

Crowley leaned his head into Raphael’s shoulder and sobbed. For once, he allowed a few frightened and choked cries to escape his lips. 

He could feel Raphael trembling, and he knew it was anger. But this anger didn’t panic him as much as he expected. This felt so targeted and… righteous. 

“Why are you angry?” he asked softly.

“It’s not at you,” Raphael said quickly.

Crowley nodded. He’d understood that, but the reassurance was nice.

“We were given our functions to serve creation and all things in it. Not to use it to abuse another. Not for our own gain. To disfigure the gifts of our Creator…”

Crowley was still trying to process the revelation. “The brand… didn’t make me feel.”

“No, Crowley. It must have been convenient for him to make you believe that mark was the cause of all your suffering. But it wasn’t. It was just another holy water scar. It vanished as easily as all your other scars. It never controlled you. It never bound you to him.”

Crowley shook. “He lied to me,” he said softly, feeling the impossibility of accusing his tormentor of anything. It wasn’t possible. Gabriel was always right. Gabriel was the center of all. Gabriel gave pain and kindness at a touch. Gabriel couldn’t…

“He lied to you about a lot of things, Crowley,” Raphael said flatly.

Crowley looked up at the Archangel. The demon’s glasses had slipped down, and his unshielded eyes met his master’s. He quivered but didn’t turn away.

Raphael’s face was full of fury. But a righteous, protective fury. He’d been so calm and steady since the moment he’d taken Crowley away from the cell, but now Crowley saw a new side. Raphael’s anger at what had been done _to_ Crowley was open and evident. He wasn’t gently leading, wasn’t suggesting Crowley might reexamine his memories and find another truth. He was openly declaring Gabriel to be a liar. 

Crowley carefully extracted himself from Raphael’s grip. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms tight around his legs. “Have… have you lied to me?”

Raphael crossed his legs and faced the demon. His head was low, encouraging Crowley to look high enough to see the truth in his eyes. “I have not,” the Archangel said quietly, his eyes serious and honest. He waited a moment. “But there are things I’ve kept from you.”

Crowley nodded, unsurprised. “Are you ever going to tell me what they are?”

“Someday. When you’re ready to hear. Tonight, I think you have enough revelations to process.”

Crowley nodded. “Can I…” He paused, considered, then spoke again. “I’m going to my room now.”

Raphael smiled. “Well done. Goodnight, Crowley.”

Crowley ducked his head, even as he smiled tentatively back. “Goodnight, Master.” He crawled backwards a few paces before rising. 

He made his way slowly up the stairs with heavy use of the bannister. Safe inside his room, he changed his clothes, then went to the window and leaned on the sill. The night sky danced its patterns of light, a soothing display as Crowley thought.

The brand… was a lie. Gabriel had never owned him.

No, that wasn’t true. Even if the mark hadn’t tied them together for eternity, he’d still controlled Crowley’s every movement. The demon had been fully in his power. His prisoner. His slave.

Crowley rested his head on his arms. 

He’d given Gabriel that power. He’d been the one to call him Master. To give in to the torture. To surrender to Gabriel’s touch. To allow Gabriel to brand him.

That was Crowley’s truth… or it had been. It was starting to feel less like the truth.

Over and over, Raphael insisted Crowley was allowed to feel his suffering. To express it. To have opinions. Not just believe the truths Gabriel had taught him. 

And tonight, he’d said Gabriel’s power had been meant to serve creation. Not abuse a piece of it.

_But I’m not a piece of it,_ Crowley thought. _I Fell. I’m just a demon. I deserve whatever the angels do to me. They’re better than I am. I’m supposed to be like this. I’m supposed to be their slave._

But the brand had been a lie.

And Gabriel hadn’t wanted anyone to know about the brand.

He’d specifically told Crowley not to tell anyone. And he’d always clothed Crowley anytime he took him where other angels would see him.

It had been their secret. Why? 

“I didn’t want it,” Crowley whispered, shaking to say the words. “He said I asked for it. But I didn’t.” He raised his voice – not quite shouting. “I didn’t!” 

He sank to his knees at the audacity of the words. He buried his head in his hands, trembling with the uncertainty of it all.

He hadn’t asked for the brand. What else hadn’t he asked for? What else had he been made to believe he’d chosen without really having a choice?


	15. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one starts in the present, but it'll become a flashback. And it's not just narrative this time, so be aware.

“We didn’t really finish what we were talking about yesterday,” Raphael began as they sat down the next night. “About why Gabriel had your wings mutilated. You said he’d been pleased with you. So, it wasn’t a punishment.”

Crowley tugged his wings forward and wrapped them around himself. “He said they were for when I couldn’t help it.”

“Help what?”

Crowley hid his face in the feathers. “For when the pain would be so bad, I wouldn’t be able to resist moving. Or screaming.”

Raphael’s face darkened with a frown.

“Can we talk about something else?” Crowley asked desperately. His fingers, clutched among his feathers, were beginning to claw with rising panic. “I don’t… what he did was…” He shook. “…awful.”

“Of course. We don’t have to discuss anything you don’t want to. Should we take a night off?”

“N-no… We can just keep going in order.”

“Order?” Raphael looked confused.

“He… didn’t really use the rings for a while.”

“But… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be asking if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Crowley looked up. “What do you want to know?”

“Why did he have your wings disfigured if he wasn’t planning to use the rings?”

“He sort of used them right away. When he started bringing me to his office.”

Crowley plunged properly into the story at last. This part wasn’t too hard to describe. Kneeling by Gabriel’s desk and doing menial work had been far preferable to other activities Gabriel enjoyed.

Raphael was interested in the reaction of other angels to Crowley’s presence, and the day-to-day of Crowley’s tasks. It wasn’t hard to talk about running errands or filing papers or cleaning up after Gabriel. Crowley shivered as he spoke of the penalty for mistakes – whether real or fabricated. 

“He… he always did something to the glass first,” Crowley mumbled, hugging his arms around himself. “The walls, I mean. So we could see out, but nobody could see in. And then he’d hurt me.” He contemplated for a minute. “I never understood why he bothered. Angels would come in when he was done. They never cared if I was bleeding.”

“Nobody ever tried to stop him?” Raphael asked.

Crowley shook his head. “Most everyone seemed… pretty fine with him punching me instead of them… Michael didn’t like that he brought me there,” he added after a moment.

“Oh?” Raphael leaned forward. 

Crowley closed his eyes. “They argued sometimes. She’d make him leave the office when they did. And then…” He trembled, his memories of that final day in the office swimming into terrified focus.

“He’d take his anger out on you?” Raphael asked

Crowley nodded.

The Archangel shifted his chair and gently took Crowley’s hands. “None of this was your fault.”

“I tried to be good for him,” Crowley whimpered, lost in the sea of painful recollections. “I tried not to make mistakes.”

“It didn’t have anything to do with you,” Raphael insisted as he squeezed Crowley’s hands. “He wanted to hurt something. That’s not your fault. You didn’t tempt him. You didn’t force him. You didn’t want it.” He waited a moment. “This was done _to_ you, not _because_ of you. You didn’t deserve this.”

It had become Raphael’s almost-daily mantra. The truth he insisted upon continually.

It was so hard to believe him. 

Crowley rested his chin on the table and let his mind drift.

“Did anyone else ever react strongly to your presence?” Raphael asked slowly. “Gabriel’s assistant maybe? His friend, Sandalphon? Or any of the other Archangels? Like Uriel?”

Crowley flinched violently, then wrapped his arms over his head as memories swamped him.

* * *

_“So, Uriel, I understand you have some concerns.”_

_The two Archangels sat across from each other in Gabriel's office. Gabriel had moved his chair in front of his desk, his posture relaxed and friendly, a contrast to the Archangel seated stiffly upright in a visitor’s chair._

_Crowley knelt in front and to the right of Gabriel. He sat upright – head bowed, hands crossed behind his back. He was trying hard to keep his shaking from becoming obvious._

_The day before, Gabriel had left Crowley behind in his office while he went to a meeting. Gabriel no longer bothered with locking the door or returning Crowley to his cell. He came and went, entirely confident that Crowley wouldn’t run, or even dare leave the floor._

_Crowley had worked diligently. The filing had been made harder by the mass of bruises on his face currently sealing one eye closed. Gabriel had not had a good morning. Crowley had been very anxious to do nothing to further sour his temper._

_That was when Uriel had arrived in search of Gabriel._

_She’d spoken kindly to Crowley – in the babyish voice humans used with animals and the mentally impaired. The bruises had attracted her attention and she’d offered to repair his ‘boo-boo’._

_Crowley’s response had been to cower to the floor, not breathing a single word in answer._

_She’d healed him, muttering as she left about how Gabriel was misusing the ‘poor creature’._

_It had taken only seconds for Gabriel to see that his handiwork was gone. Crowley had confessed at once – he’d been well-trained in honesty – but not before Gabriel had slammed him against the wall by a brutal grip on his throat. To Crowley’s surprise, Gabriel had become suddenly calm at Crowley’s stuttered explanation. He’d allowed his slave to slip to the floor and appease him with his mouth; and he hadn’t replaced the healed marks on Crowley’s face._

_Now, as he knelt before Uriel, he suspected he knew why._

_“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Uriel said cautiously. “It just doesn’t seem right to harm any part of creation.”_

_“That’s where you’re confused,” Gabriel said gently. “This is a demon. It’s not part of creation.”_

_He leaned back in his chair. “You were still young during the Rebellion. Perhaps you don’t remember the depravity of their actions. Turning away from our Creator and the divine plan! Can you imagine anything more heinous?”_

_There was a pause, then Uriel spoke hesitantly. “The humans struggle with that sometimes. And we guide them back to the light.”_

_“Yes. Our Creator has given **Her** favorite children the gift of redemption. But that’s not possible for these creatures.”_

_Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and held himself rigid. Both angels were clearly staring at him._

_“They’ve proven unworthy of forgiveness. Incapable of redemption.”_

_“Really?”_

_“It’s clear to see. Just look at it. They’re our opposites. A warning of what we could be if we strayed from the path. But we didn’t, Uriel. We’re worthy. We have **Her** favor. They are a blight. A stain on the perfection of creation. It’s our task to see that stain wiped away.”_

_His voice was all gentleness and persuasion. “We’ve fought them for a long time, but we’ll win in the end. Very soon. There’s no other alternative but to see them eradicated. We’ve let their vileness go unchecked for too long. They’re why **She** no longer speaks to us. Once we have our opposites properly dealt with, then we’ll have **Her** favor again.”_

_Uriel considered, then spoke hesitantly. “But… aren’t we meant to be merciful?”_

_“Of course,” Gabriel agreed warmly. “This_ is _mercy. It’s the natural state of the demons to be beneath us. To serve us. Now, they’re rebellious and foul creatures who have been allowed to run wild too long, so teaching them their place will take time. But this one…” He nudged Crowley with his foot. “…is proof they can learn their place. They can be made useful. We just have to put ourselves to the monumental task of reminding them where they belong.”_

_“Does it… does it have to involve… hurting them? It just seems… wrong.”_

_“Do you think I enjoy what I’m forced to do?” Gabriel sounded weary and wounded. “Causing pain to another creature – even one so depraved and filled with sin – it breaks my heart. If I could have trained it another way, I certainly would have. But it forced my hand. It refused to submit any other way. It chose pain when it could have had kindness if it had simply accepted its status. Even now, though it mostly behaves as it should, it still resists. It still has to be reminded of its place.”_

_“He seems so… quiet.”_

_“It knows how to be good.” There was a touch of warmth in Gabriel’s voice. It immediately vanished with a harder note. “And it knows the penalty if it isn’t.”_

_Crowley shivered._

_“I don’t know if I could do what you’ve done,” Uriel confessed. “To have the resolve…”_

_“It’s a difficult burden,” Gabriel agreed. “Just the act of looking at this disgusting creature and allowing it near me goes against my nature. And to touch it… But once you’ve placed yourself in a resolute state of mind, once you’ve recognized this as **Her** divine plan, you’ll find yourself prepared to do what must be done. And the benefits outweigh the repulsion. Just think of what Earth will be like when it’s free of their corruption. Our work will go easier. Humanity will step into the light as they were always meant to. And your burden will be so much easier to bear when you have a demon at your feet who can assist you. They can be useful, Uriel. They can help undo some of the harm they’ve caused. Won’t you enjoy having someone who can perform the dull tasks? The unpleasant ones? That’s what they were meant to do. Once they understand that, they’ll be happier for it.”_

_“Will they?”_

_“Of course. Free of rebellion. Free of fear. They won’t claw and harm each other for scraps any longer. They’ll be taken care of._ We _will care for them. They will serve us. They won’t have to resist what they already know to be true. And think, they’ll be back in Heaven. Able to catch a glimpse of **Her** light. Even if they’ll never be worthy of **Her** grace and forgiveness, at least they’ll witness a little of what they rejected.”_

_Tears rolled down Crowley’s cheeks._

_“When you put it like that…” Uriel murmured. “But… I’m not as strong as you. I don’t think I could ever… hit something.”_

_“You won’t have to. That’s what the collars are for. So we never have to stoop to the baseness of physical violence. Unless there’s no other recourse. But I think you’ll find the collars to be quite effective. Would you like a demonstration?”_

_A rush of icy terror shot through Crowley’s veins._

_“I don’t know if I need…”_

_“Nonsense! I want to put all your fears aside. Let me show you how the collar works. You’ll see it’s quite safe for use. They’re meant to keep the demon’s base nature and malicious tendencies in check. They’ll come to be grateful for the assistance when they see how much better they feel being quiet and obedient. Would you like to see how it works?”_

_“…Alright.”_

_“Crowley. Lift your head. Eyes on the ceiling.”_

_Crowley looked straight up, displaying his throat to the Archangels._

_“Go ahead, Uriel. Take a closer look at the collar. Don’t be frightened of him. He’s entirely under my control.”_

_A shifting of movement, then the young Archangel appeared in the corner of Crowley’s vision. He closed his eyes and resisted flinching as a feather-light touch brushed over his neck and settled near the collar._

_“You can move the collar around. You’ll see it’s perfectly comfortable.”_

_The collar wriggled against his neck._

_Crowley felt a cold sweat break across his back._

_“I’ve never been this close to a demon,” Uriel murmured._

_“You may touch him all you like. He won’t harm you.”_

_Hands explored Crowley’s face. The touch was gentle, but entirely undesired and invasive. The touch grew more confident as the hands roamed down his back and onto his wing._

_“I didn’t think their feathers would feel so soft. Practically like an angel’s.”_

_“They can wear pleasing shapes if they wish. It’s their way of mocking us. Pretending they’re our equals. And trying to tempt us into Falling.”_

_The hands vanished._

_“As you can see from the display,” Gabriel said in his silky-calm voice, “the collar is currently set at 01. It’s entirely painless.”_

_“Really?”_

_“All it’s doing right now is providing a simple draining of the demon’s powers. It keeps him a little tired and makes it difficult for him to try any despicable abilities. It’s a little uncomfortable at first, but it’s painless and the demon adjusts to it easily. I generally use this setting as a reward. For daily use, I choose 02.”_

_Crowley felt the collar begin delivering the thin buzz of discomfort which he was so accustomed to, he barely felt it anymore. He stayed carefully still._

_“This is very mild discomfort. Not enough to distract him from any tasks I give him. It makes demonic miracles almost impossible.”_

_The strange hands returned to touching his neck and collar. “I don’t feel anything.”_

_“Yes. It will only harm the wearer. Useful in case you’re in contact with the demon when it requires a punishment. You wouldn’t want to be harmed on its account. Now, the next level up inflicts just a little more pain.”_

_The collar’s output rose to 03._

_“It doesn’t seem to be bothering him.”_

_“No… This is entirely safe for long-term use. It’s just unpleasant.”_

_The collar went up another degree of pain._

_A shudder passed through Crowley’s body. He forced himself not to react any further._

_How long was Gabriel planning to keep this demonstration going?_

_“At this point, he’s feeling definite pain. Unwanted behavior becomes extremely difficult. His concentration is decreasing. This is a good setting for long-term distraction. Such as… if I wanted to train him not to pay attention when other angels are speaking during a meeting. Or if I needed to leave him unattended for a long stretch. This gives him something to concentrate on besides evil deeds. Now we reach the middle setting.”_

_The collar stepped up the pain level._

_“You can see he’s starting to react. This is still more uncomfortable than truly hurting him. Mostly this is a useful setting to say, ‘it can always get worse’.”_

_Uriel’s fingers poked him experimentally in the side and the neck. “He’s getting sweaty.”_

_“Yes. As I said, this is the middle setting. It can get better or worse depending on his behavior. He’s being good right now. If he wasn’t, I might remind him of the higher settings by turning it up a little more…”_

_Crowley’s hands contracted into fists as the collar jumped to 06. He wished Gabriel would let him lower his head. He wasn’t going to be able to keep his chin raised if the collar went up any higher._

_He also wished Uriel would back off. She was touching his wings again. She wasn’t intentionally causing pain, but the punishment from the collar made his nerve endings raw and every tug of a feather sent a little jolt of pain straight to the bone. Crowley slid his lip between his teeth. He hadn’t bitten down yet, but he was sure he’d need to in a moment to keep from screaming._

_The collar jumped to 07._

_Crowley’s jaw contracted around his lip. His wings shook in Uriel’s grip. His chin bobbed as he fought to maintain the ordered position._

_“Now we’re well into the punishment levels.”_

_Uriel stood up and came around in front of him. “He’s in pain right now?”_

_“Quite a lot. Any unwanted behavior is entirely disabled at this stage. I need to be careful how long I leave him at this high a setting. 06 and down are safe for long-term use. The higher settings could cause discorporation.”_

_“What’s it doing to him?” Uriel asked, sounding more curious than bothered._

_“He’s currently receiving a constant wash of significant pain. It’s continuous until I choose to set it lower. Or higher.”_

 __Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t, _Crowley panted in his mind. He didn’t beg anymore – not usually. It didn’t do any good. What Master wanted would happen. If Master wanted to hurt him, he’d be hurt._

_He deserved it, of course. He deserved it all._

_His chin rocked to his chest as the 08 pain hit him. His whole body shook as he fought to maintain the upright pose, fought to keep his arms pinned behind his back._

_Injuries currently hidden beneath his clothes felt fresh and raw. Blood flooded his mouth from his tattered lip._

_Distantly he heard Gabriel explaining how this was the collar’s default reprimand level – for when he struck at an angel or tried to tamper with the collar. He could hear the Archangel droning on for quite a while about the effectiveness for deterring any further bad behaviors and for keeping him in one place if he ran until he could be collected._

_The collar rose to 09._

_Crowley crumpled over his knees, hands clawing helplessly against the floor. He couldn’t maintain his posture, couldn’t think, couldn’t withstand the suffering._

_All he could think was that he had to remain silent. No matter what._

 _And one more thought. One more desperate thought._ Please, Master. Please don’t... __

_From far away he heard Gabriel’s voice. “…eliminates all control of mental and physical functions. Still safe for a few hours, but you wouldn’t want to leave it like this for too long. Excellent for reminding it of what it is. But if that lesson still won’t get through, if it still won’t obey, the collar does have one more setting…”_

_Crowley thought he made some sort of desperate noise, much as he tried to silence himself. He didn’t know anything after a moment._

He was burning. Burning from the inside out. Cut off from everything. Alone. Falling. No one to catch him. No one to save him. What he deserved. His punishment forever. Nothing left of him. Just pain eternal…

_He wasn’t aware of anything until the pain began to dissipate. When the world filtered back into focus, his head rested on Gabriel’s knees. The Archangel held him as residual tremors assaulted his body._

_“…combine the pain with a little kindness after and it’ll understand how to behave.”_

_“…Thank you…” Crowley whispered as he came back to himself._

_Gabriel said nothing to him, continuing to speak to Uriel about the merits of the collar. After a moment, the Archangel gave Crowley a small nudge and the sweat-soaked demon crawled back into position. Gabriel rose and finished with Uriel._

_She thanked Gabriel as she left, her tone composed despite what she’d seen._

_Crowley wondered what part had reassured her that everything was fine. He dropped his chin to his chest as tears flowed steadily from his eyes. He tried not to sway with exhaustion and pain._

_Gabriel returned to his chair. He was silent for a moment. Then – “You were listening.”_

_Crowley flinched._

_“What did you hear?”_

_Crowley cringed, managing weakly to speak. “Th-that… all demons will be like me s-someday.”_

_“Yes, they will.” Gabriel sounded satisfied. “Are you going to tell anyone that?”_

_“N-no, Master.”_

_Gabriel rose to stand over him. A snap of his fingers sealed the room. A second snap eliminated Crowley’s clothes. “I thought I could trust you not to listen, but apparently you’ve forgotten your training.”_

_“N-n-no, Master. I remember! Please!”_

_A weighted silence, and Crowley sobbed to realize Gabriel's assessment hadn't been a question. He flattened himself to the floor, suppressing the rush of apologies. They wouldn’t be appreciated in Gabriel’s current mood._

_“You need reminding,” Gabriel observed. “Stand.”_

_Crowley scrambled to his feet._

_“Clear off my desk.”_

_Crowley hurriedly moved the stacks of papers into neat piles on the floor._

_“Hands against the desk. Bend forward.” Gabriel’s hands were firm and oppressive on the back of Crowley’s neck as he guided Crowley into the position he wanted._

_“Hmm, I think I want something different…” Gabriel snapped his fingers._

_Crowley braced himself and squeezed his eyes shut. Whatever Gabriel intended, all Crowley could do was obey and try to keep this from escalating further._

_He tried not to let his legs collapse under him as the heavy weight of a baton smashed down on his back and wings._


	16. Chapter 14

Admael – the angel who’d brought the apples – had come calling along with two companions. They sat in Raphael’s office, discussing disease-related topics.

Crowley listened from a distance. Raphael never prevented him from listening. He would probably explain all the medical terms if Crowley asked. But for the moment the rapid technical talk just made Crowley feel out of place and lonely.

He wandered out to the garden and poked listlessly at the plants. His chores were done, and he wasn’t in the mood to work with the ornamentals. With a glance back at the house, he spread his wings and flew across the wildflower field.

He alighted at the edge of the forest, studying the trees with a thoughtful tilt of his head. He’d never been past this point. This was the edge of Raphael’s territory. The Archangel’s protection felt more tenuous beyond the estate boundaries.

That hadn’t been an issue until now. The forest’s shadow scared Crowley. He hadn’t wanted to enter the dim and enclosed wood where anything could be concealed.

His fear of the dark was declining. He still slept with a light on, but he didn’t _have_ to be inside (or with Raphael) by nightfall. He could walk alone in the dark – so long as it was an open and familiar space. 

Inside, he could usually manage dark rooms without his pulse racing – except the library. Its tall shelves cast too many shadows.

He’d become strongly motivated to overcome his fear two days before when Raphael had asked him to run down to the wine cellar and bring up a bottle. Crowley had tried… and returned empty-handed to confess he’d barely made it to the bottom of the stairs. Although he no longer feared his master’s ire for his failures, he did wallow in constant shame and self-loathing for his weaknesses and nature. He wanted to make it up to Raphael somehow.

And he’d gotten far enough into the cellar to see that, even if Raphael insisted it was all for medicinal purposes, he had some good vintages aging in his collection. Crowley wondered if he could convince Raphael to crack open a bottle and celebrate some milestone or other… if he could just motivate himself to _reach_ the bottles. 

The forest seemed like an easier first step.

Plus, he was bored. He’d been at the estate long enough to become familiar with the grounds, and to overcome any fear of the place. He itched to explore.

There were the neighbors to worry about, but they knew about him. He’d actually gone with Raphael to that party. They hadn’t stayed long. Raphael hadn’t enjoyed so many people trying to talk to him at once, and Crowley had had sudden flashbacks to witch-burnings, and begun wondering what mob mentality could do to one demon crushed into a mess of angels. 

But the upside of the party had been several angels from neighboring estates flying over to make social calls. Whatever the reason they gave, Crowley was pretty sure they wanted to get a look at him. None of them had been overtly hostile. Or even implied underlying prejudices.

“It’s remote here,” Raphael had said with a shrug when Crowley remarked on it. “Most people here just want to mind their own business and get on with life. But they’re also bored. You’re a novelty.”

So long as mild curiosity was all he got, Crowley thought he could handle the neighbors. And he was starting to relate to the boredom.

Stilling down a flicker of terror, he ducked beneath the branches and entered the woods.

That nothing attacked him within the first few steps was almost disappointing.

Crowley had grown used to abject terror. But there was fear of Gabriel saying, ‘ _I want to try something new_ ’, and there was fear of something unknown lurking in a shadow. Crowley found the unknown seemed less alarming now, once he’d braced himself.

It didn’t hurt that the forest was downright pretty. This was Heaven after all. It wasn’t nearly so shadowy as he’d expected. The light filtered a pleasant green. Birds called through the trees. 

He walked a distance, following no path in particular. He wasn’t worried about getting lost. All he needed was a gap in the canopy and he could fly back.

The sound of running water attracted his attention. He followed it to a pristine creek. The creek was wide and rocky, light sparkling across the water. Crowley found a warm rock well away from the splashing creek (he wasn’t sure if it was holy, and he had no intention of finding out) and settled down to bask.

His thoughts drifted easily, a gentle peace wafting through him. 

After a time in a half-doze, he cautiously began to test his memories and shift his thoughts into order.

What would he and Raphael talk about tonight? They’d finished with his time working in Gabriel’s office – the first stretch of time. And he’d jumped ahead to the incident with Uriel – which had been after he’d passed the second test. The next significant story would be what Gabriel had done to his wings… and he didn’t want to describe that. Ever. Just thinking about it filled him with phantom pains.

So that took him to Michael’s test. And that was a problem. 

What had happened with Gabriel and the knife – he wanted to talk about that part. Get Raphael’s take on self-harm. He suspected Raphael had encountered some who did such things deliberately – without a terrifying Archangel forcing them to commit self-mutilation. Crowley was curious as to why. And he wanted to talk about how Gabriel had clearly gotten off on that. He was starting to – slowly – recognize that some of what he’d been through hadn’t been because of his faults. That Gabriel had liked hurting him for the sake of hurting him. He’d known that early on… but he’d forgotten it somewhere along the way. It had been easier to believe that the hurt was all his own fault. Because if it was his fault, there had always been the chance he could save himself from some of the pain if he behaved. But if Gabriel just wanted to watch him suffer, there was nothing he could have done.

Which meant all the times he’d enthusiastically contributed to his own suffering in hopes his obedience would lighten the pain had been for nothing. And he did want to talk with Raphael about how that felt.

But the problem was Michael. 

Up until now Crowley had only accused Gabriel of torture. He’d gradually stopped defending Gabriel’s actions (even though he still somewhat believed they were justified by Crowley’s base nature). But Gabriel was dead. He could safely talk about him without recrimination. (Except for his nightmares which were often filled with Gabriel threatening him relentlessly for all he’d told.)

But there might be consequences if he spoke ill of Michael. What if Raphael told her what he said? What if she wanted him back? Raphael couldn’t stand up to _the commander of Heaven’s army_ , could he?

There was another issue – the reason he’d failed the test. The thing he couldn’t mention. The thing he couldn’t think about. He’d managed to skip the _why_ of what had happened to him until now, but that was getting harder. Because, try as he might, the peace of this place kept triggering all the carefully suppressed memories. And all the times he and Raphael just _talked_ in friendly fashion about Earth – there had been dozens of times he’d barely stopped himself from rambling into a train of memories which would have led him to things he _couldn’t_ remember, or unintentionally provided the ammunition to bring down the one thing he’d managed to protect.

As kind and safe as Raphael had been, a part of Crowley was still a little convinced this was all a trap to lull him into tranquility so that he’d give up the one thing Gabriel had failed to take from him.

It wasn’t impossible to imagine. 

*****

“You disappeared this afternoon,” Raphael observed as they sat down that evening. “Did Admael make you nervous?”

Crowley shook his head. “No. I just didn’t understand what you were talking about.”

“I’m happy to explain it to you.”

“Maybe another time.” Crowley traced his finger along a groove in the table. “I wasn’t allowed to listen when angels talked.” 

“I’ve told you that it’s fine.”

Crowley sighed. “You tell me a lot of the things I was trained to do, or not do, are okay. It’s confusing.”

“Gabriel’s rules aren’t universal,” Raphael said gently. “Or even practical. Or moral.” 

Crowley managed a weak smile before he sobered. “I went into the woods.” He looked up, meeting Raphael’s eyes in an attempt at a defiant look… which he kept up for less than a second before dropping his head.

Lately he’d started ‘challenging’ Raphael – in ways Gabriel would have beaten him senseless for, but Raphael didn’t even seem to notice. Things like beginning to speak before Raphael had quite finished a sentence. Or making brief eye contact. Or working in the garden _before_ completing whatever chores Raphael assigned him on a given day. Once he’d been half-asleep on the sofa and not knelt when Raphael entered the room… and the Archangel had just greeted him as casually as he ever did and kept going without so much as a raised eyebrow.

It confused Crowley. He wasn’t sure if Raphael was tolerating his bad behavior, saving all Crowley’s lapses for one large punishment, or… 

…or Gabriel’s rules didn’t apply here.

“Oh?” Raphael asked, his tone as calm as ever. “Find anything interesting?”

“I just went as far as a creek.”

Raphael nodded. “If you backtrack it toward the mountains, it feeds off a rather pretty series of waterfalls. It’s worth the hike.”

Crowley studied the table. Apparently, he wasn’t going to be punished for leaving the estate. It had never been a specific rule… just implied. But not all of Gabriel’s rules had been obvious before Crowley broke one of them.

“If you’re feeling up to longer flights, I’d caution you against going West. You’d have to fly fairly far, but you would eventually run into an area where the cherubim like flying drills, and those hotheads may give you a hard time.”

Crowley nodded. That seemed… perfectly valid.

Which was true about the very few things Raphael ever said which might have been considered rules. Just general cautions about not breaking things or staying out of the room where Raphael stored holy objects. They made sense and were never really phrased like orders. 

“I can show you some nice pathways through the forest if you’d like. But I expect you’d enjoy discovering on your own.”

The demon nodded once more. He hunched his shoulders, struggling to put his thoughts from the afternoon into clear words. 

Raphael waited quietly. He always seemed aware of when Crowley needed time before he was ready to speak.

“Do you believe what I tell you?” Crowley asked in a rush.

The Archangel folded his hands. “I do, yes.”

“Why? I’m a demon. A tempter.”

“Neither of those things mean you’re not honest.”

Crowley looked up at him, studying Raphael’s expression. “That’s not…”

“I know what Gabriel told you.”

“I’ve been told I’m a liar by way more angels than just Gabriel,” Crowley snapped, immediately cringing at his tone.

Raphael waited a moment. “Can I tell you how I know you’ve told the truth?”

Crowley nodded warily.

“For starters, you’ve told me things which can be verified. You say Uriel watched you writhe on Gabriel’s office floor. That’s a story I could easily verify. Perhaps Uriel tells me the same. Perhaps she gives me a slightly different story. But the point is, you’ve offered a detail which could easily be confirmed or denied. Same with what happened to your wings and eyes. You may not know the names of those who harmed you, but you’ve mentioned details about them. It would be very easy to check the records.

“Which is another point. You’re telling a story which was largely conducted in public. Gabriel brought you to the office. Dozens of angels saw you. Dozens could testify to your bruises. Gabriel openly admitted to others, in your presence, much of what he did. Most of what you’re saying isn’t secret.

“And the parts that are… I saw your injuries. I knew you’d been raped long before you were ready to confirm it. I saw that brand. Your injuries verify your story. What’s more, despite the horrors you’ve related to me, I know there are worse things you haven’t said. If you were lying, I’d expect the opposite.”

Crowley wrapped an arm around his stomach. “W-what do you mean?”

Raphael bowed his head. “Healing… if it’s not completely committed to, or if it’s halted before it’s finished, leaves a trace. Scars on the corporation which can be sensed or felt. And things left to heal on their own certainly leave scars.” He looked at the demon, sorrow in his eyes. “You had many, _many_ internal scars.”

Crowley drew his knees beneath his chin and clasped his arms around his legs. “What… what do you know about me? That I haven’t said?”

“I know you’ve had multiple broken arms. I know you’ve had holy water in your mouth at least twice. Perhaps more.”

“Twice,” Crowley whispered.

Raphael nodded. “Something happened to utterly destroy the muscles in your wings. And… the scapular joints. They’ve been dislocated repeatedly.”

Crowley lowered his head and began to cry. 

Raphael sat next to him, resting one hand on the back of the demon’s neck. “There were also holy water scars on your feet from repeated exposure. And the calluses on your hands. Considering which fingers were injured, I’d say you’d been repeatedly handling blessed objects.”

Crowley nodded and leaned against Raphael as the shudders passed through his body.

“You can tell me whatever you need. You can hold back anything too uncomfortable to talk about. This is your story. You choose what you do or don’t share.”

“…What do you do with it? What I tell you?”

“It’s your story,” Raphael repeated. “None of it gets shared unless you choose.”

Crowley raised his head. “So… if I said something about someone… not Gabriel… you wouldn’t tell them?”

Raphael put his hand over Crowley’s and squeezed it gently. “You’re safe here,” he said as he had many times. “If there is anyone you think might be a threat to you, say the word and they’ll never come near you.”

“You can do that?” Crowley asked in a hushed voice.

Raphael hesitated. “Can I make a guess about who you’re afraid of?”

Crowley nodded.

“Is it Michael?”

Crowley nodded jerkily.

Raphael looked neither surprised nor concerned. “Anyone else?”

Crowley rested his head on his knees and considered. “Just Michael,” he said at last. “There were others… but I think she was in charge. And… she’s an Archangel.”

“So am I,” Raphael said, a touch grimly. “And I do have some sway over my fellows. When I say you’re under my protection, I mean that. No one will hurt you. That includes Michael.”

Crowley contemplated that for a while. 

He could hear Gabriel telling him he was a slave. He had no rights. He was entitled to nothing. 

If it had been Gabriel making those promises, they might have been broken at any moment Gabriel chose. Crowley wasn’t entitled to lasting promises. He wasn’t entitled to forgiveness or mercy. Certainly not promises of protection. Not even honesty.

But… he had no reason to distrust Raphael. And it was getting harder to remain suspicious. Not when the Archangel’s every action seemed sincere. 

He let out a breath. “There was a test. In front of Michael. And some other angels. I want to talk about that…”


	17. Chapter 15

“Are you going to give me the run-around again?” Raguel asked as Raphael came into her office.

“I’m not letting you near Crowley, if that’s what you mean,” the healer replied flatly. He hadn’t come for a fight, but he was weary and unsettled.

Crowley’s tale of the test he’d failed had lasted long into the night. The story might not have been long in itself, but they’d deviated multiple times onto topics obviously troubling to Crowley, so it had been a lengthy session. And longer afterwards as Raphael paced, bothered by the implications, even if some of it he’d already known.

That’s what had brought him to Raguel the next morning.

Raguel studied him through narrowed eyes. “I hope you came here to give me something.”

“Quid pro quo?” Raphael suggested.

Raguel slid into her office chair. “Very well. You first.”

“Do you have the printouts from the collar?”

Raguel gestured at the bulletin board on the wall.

The sheets hung in long rows, the data measured out both by days according to normal time, and months if the hours were divided properly into day lengths and then into thirty-day months. In the margins, Raguel had marked additional timelines tracking Gabriel’s movements in ‘real time’, along with other players in the unfolding drama.

Raphael went to the board.

“What are you looking for?” Raguel asked, following him.

“A time when the collar went up from one to ten over the course of about a half hour.”

“Ah. That’s here. Near the end.” Raguel led him down the row and tapped the data points. “Only the second time the collar went up to 10. At least it wasn’t for nearly as long as the first.” She looked grim. “The tech team tells me it was made to simulate Falling.”

“According to the expert who has experienced both… they succeeded.”

Raguel closed her eyes with a look of pain. She grappled down her emotions and turned back to the board. “What about that incident?”

“Ask Uriel about it.”

Raguel looked suspicious. “What should I ask?”

“Ask if she ever saw Gabriel turn the collar up to ten. I suspect, if she’ll talk about that, she’ll tell everything she knows.”

Raguel eyed the data, then looked back at Raphael. “And the other names I gave you?”

Raphael shook his head. “If Sandalphon was involved, he wasn’t mentioned by name. Nor any of your temporary council.”

“And the assistants?”

“I don’t believe they ever had direct, negative interactions with Crowley. Beyond that…” Raphael shook his head. 

Raguel returned to her chair reluctantly. “You’re sure you can’t just let me…”

“Raguel.” Raphael spoke more sharply than he intended.

The angel of justice held up her hands defensively. “I won’t press. What did you want from me?”

“I want to know about Michael.”

“You know I can’t relate testimonies any more than you’ll violate your charge’s privacy.”

“I just have one question. She told both of us the answer, but I want to know if she changed her story.”

“What’s the question?”

“She told us the demon was tested twice on obedience.”

“Yes. Two days in a row.” Raguel glanced at the board. “Or seven weeks depending on how you count these things.”

“Regarding the first test… what was her assessment of Crowley’s progress?”

“You heard her. She said he’d made excellent progress. That’s what prompted her to want to move to phase two.” 

“That’s what I thought…” Raphael murmured. “And she’s stuck with that story?” 

Raguel frowned. “Is she lying?”

“Someone is. My guess is Gabriel.”

“What’s this about?”

“Something happened. Something Michael didn’t see. Something which prompted that.” Raphael waved a hand at the data points on the two days in question which were brimming with spikes in the collar ranging from short blasts to lengthy stretches of punishment.

Raguel walked over to the board. “You’re thinking all these points happened between the two tests?” 

“We know the collar went up to 08 during the first test. And that appears to be the first time it went up that high in weeks, from Crowley’s perspective.” Raphael rose and touched the first spike. “So… that’s the first test.”

“And when’s the second?”

“I’m guessing here.” Raphael tapped a point when the collar dropped to 01 and remained there for a week (or less than a day). 

Raguel looked between them. “You think this is when Gabriel went off the deep end?”

“I don’t know what he did… yet. But his opinion of the test and Michael’s seem to have been wildly different.”

“If your charge is telling the truth.”

Raphael’s hands balled into fists. “I’m starting to think he’s the only honest one in this whole madness.”

Raguel touched his arm and studied him with concern. “You’re getting attached.” 

Raphael put a hand to his temple. “Everything Gabriel put him through, and he’s still trying to hope. Despite it all, he never completely broke. He’s remarkable.” He stared wearily at the bulletin board.

“He won’t stay,” Raguel said, her tone gentle despite the blunt assessment. “Wild birds flee when their wings heal. You can’t keep him caged. Even if you could, he belongs to Hell. They want him back.”

Raphael shuddered. “They’ll hurt him.”

“Maybe. Maybe your broken bird’s stronger than you think.” Raguel’s expression turned slightly desperate. “Can you please get me something useful _before_ he runs off?”

Raphael barely nodded as he walked away.

*****

Crowley surveyed his reflection in the washroom mirror.

He’d just finished snipping his hair flat to his scalp again. 

Talking through the test had led to nightmares – ones involving Gabriel’s obsession with tearing at his wings and hair. His wings were safely tucked away in the ether where no grabby hands could harm them. But his hair simply had to go before Crowley could breathe easier.

He stepped back and studied the rest of his body. He pulled off his shirt, turned around, and stared for the hundredth time at the empty space where the brand had been. Its absence still felt impossible.

He looked far healthier. Color had returned to his eyes and hair (what little of it there was). His wings were sleek and glossy. His frame had filled out. The unhealthy pallor was gone from his skin thanks to so much time spent outside. If he kept working as he was, he might even start developing muscles.

He didn’t sleep nearly as much anymore. That last night had been an utter failure for sleep wasn’t weighing on him as it would have just a week or two before. 

It felt good, he thought as he dressed himself. Returning to a state closer to actual health.

Raphael still wasn’t back from whatever errand had taken him from the estate. Crowley felt only a small prickle of unease regarding Raphael’s absence. The Archangel came and went reliably. It was becoming a little easier to be without him.

He went into the garden and sat down beside the bush. “Let’s talk,” he said firmly.

Around him, the ornamental garden looked much improved. He’d transplanted quite a lot of things into more ascetic or healthier growing locations. The garden had a far nicer flow. The plants were beginning to respond to regular care and to a gardener who sharply informed them that his expectations were higher than they were used to, and they’d better step up or face the consequences.

He was very vague on consequences. He had absolutely nothing to threaten them with, and he had an impression the plants were just humoring him since he brought the fertilizer.

Only the bush with the white flowers continued to trail listless branches on the ground.

“I found out about you,” the demon said. “It took a lot of hunting, but I finally found you in a book. You didn’t make the cut, huh? You were meant for Earth – for the Garden. But they decided you weren’t right.”

The bush drooped further.

“I didn’t make the cut either,” Crowley said. “Heaven didn’t want me, and I didn’t want it. I wasn’t good enough for this place, I guess.” He eyed the dirt moodily.

“They didn’t want me in the Garden either. But I went in anyway. And it was nice… really nice. But you know what was wrong with it? No room for creativity. No room to say, ‘This is how I want to be’. Earth was nicer for that. A lot of the plants don’t look anything like they did in the Garden now. They’ve decided to be different.” He grimaced. “Sometimes that’s because bad things happened to them. They’d get eaten so they’d get thorns. Or they’d learn to taste bad.”

He drew his legs to his chest. “I guess… having to learn how to survive even though there was a lot out there that could hurt them, it made them different. Stronger. A different kind of pretty.” His voice dropped. “Even the ones with thorns, or burrs, or toxins… they still have flowers. They’re still beautiful.”

He focused on the bush. “Listen, I know Heaven’s supposed to be perfect, but from what I’ve seen, there’s still a lot of room to explore being you. You’re in a good place for it. You and me? We belong to someone who’s letting us figure out who we are.”

He pulled off his sunglasses to properly glare at the bush. “So, are you just going to mope that some idiot didn’t think you were worthwhile thousands of years ago? That’s a terrible way to be. You have a beautiful home. You have nice neighbors. You have the freedom and creativity to be how you want to be. I’ll help you, okay? You need fertilizer, or stakes, or some branches pruned, or your roots checked, I’ll do that. I’ll help you. But you gotta try, okay? Try to be more than somebody stupid said you could be. Can you manage that?” Tears hovered around his eyes. “Cause… I could really use someone around here who’s trying along with me. It’s hard to do it alone.”

*****

“After the test… that was the worst it ever got,” Crowley began when he and Raphael were seated for the evening. The demon took a deep breath and labored on. “He took me back to the stone cell. H-he said I didn’t know my place.” His eyes focused on the table. “He said he’d been too generous… letting me get away with things. He said…” He closed his eyes. “He said I belonged in the dirt. That… that **She** said I belonged there…”

He didn’t tell everything which had happened over those unbearable weeks. Some of it he couldn’t dare visualize yet. He didn’t want to talk about his wings – only saying this was the time period which had resulted in the broken limbs and ruined wings Raphael had noticed. 

Crowley’s well-conditioned self-loathing came out in his repeated insistence that it was all his fault. Raphael no longer let him say such things without pushing for the contrary.

“Give me evidence from your life before Gabriel that proves you deserved this treatment,” he demanded, his voice gentle but his expression uncompromising.

Crowley shuddered. “I rebelled,” he said quietly. It seemed the obvious starting point.

“And you Fell for it,” Raphael agreed. “But that’s between you and **Her**. What right does anyone else have to continue punishing you for it?”

Crowley studied the ground. “I’m a serpent,” he said at last. Hadn’t Gabriel condemned him for that dozens of times?

“And Admael’s a camel. What’s your point?”

Crowley looked up quizzically.

“You’re not the only one with two shapes. If Gabriel thought your serpent half makes you a lower being, there are multiple _unfallen_ angels who would argue to the contrary.”

“But I’m meant to crawl. Isn’t that why **She** gave me that shape?”

“ **She** also gave you wings.” 

Crowley gripped his shoulder. His wings twitched in the ether, strong and whole. So very like his angel wings had been. “I missed them,” he whispered. “In the Fall. I wanted them back.” He wrapped his arms around himself. “I wanted a lot of things back.”

Gentle hands enveloped his. “Do you miss **Her**?” Raphael asked softly.

Crowley nodded, his head bowed low. _Stupid, weak, demon,_ he scolded himself. _You shouldn’t even think about **Her**. You’re not worthy. You’re nothing but a deceptive, crawling, filthy serpent._

“Have you ever tried talking to **Her**?”

Crowley’s head came up. “ **She** wouldn’t listen to me!”

“How do you know?”

“I Fell! I turned my back! I… I’m not worthy of **Her** , or here or… anything.” The tears fell freely as he hunched himself into a ball. “Gabriel was right. Maybe even if he was wrong to hurt me, he was right that I deserved it.” He closed his eyes. “Maybe he was just enacting **Her** will.”

Raphael crouched beside Crowley’s chair. He cupped a hand around the back of Crowley’s neck.

Crowley lifted his gaze, surprised to see the Archangel’s eyes were full of tears. 

“ **She** doesn’t want **Her** children to suffer,” Raphael said softly.

“…not **Her** child…” Crowley mumbled.

“ **She** made you, didn’t **She**?”

“ **She** threw me out.”

“Have you ever asked why?”

“ **She** wouldn’t answer if I did. **She** wouldn’t even hear me.”

Raphael rose, giving Crowley's shoulder a small squeeze. “ **She** hears all of us. **She** sees all of us. And **She** weeps for what we do to each other.”

“Then why let it happen?”

“Why don’t you ask **Her**?”

*****

The night was dark, but Crowley left the house anyway and flew across the grounds. He hesitated, heart in his throat when he reached the forest, but he forced himself to enter the shadows and plunge onward.

Serpent eyes saw their way through the dark despite the trembling in his steps.

When he found the creek, he climbed onto the rock he’d claimed before. He looked up at the open piece of sky and watched the dark colors swirl.

“Can you hear me?” he asked. “Would you even listen if you could?” He lowered his head. “Do you even care what happened to me?”

He hugged his arms around himself. “I just want to know why. Did I do something so terrible that I deserved it? Was it for a reason? Why… if you care about me at all… why would you let that happen? And if Gabriel was wrong… why didn’t he Fall?”

The questions cascaded from him. More and more as the minutes ticked by. He sobbed and poured out his questions to the dark sky, letting out a flood of emotions and confusion that he’d held back all this time despite Raphael’s willing ear. He curled on the ground in the end, too burdened to even hold himself upright.

Eventually, he slept.

He awoke feeling warm – stiff from the hard ground, but surrounded by warmth.

He kept his eyes closed, drinking in the feeling of peace and comfort for as long as it lasted. 

Just before he knew he couldn’t keep himself from properly waking any longer, he thought he heard a voice whisper in his ear.

**_'Don’t fear any longer, my beautiful child. You’re nearly through the darkness. You’ve come so far. You’ll see your way soon. Please know, I never stopped loving you.’_**

And Crowley awoke to the birdsong of the early morning forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last Saturday update. Now that _Beginning of Eternity_ is done, _Reparations_ is moving to Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Wednesday will not always be chapters - it might be art, or it might not happen if I don't have anything ready. There will be a chapter this Wednesday to start things off.


	18. Chapter 16

“Why do you do all this by hand?” Crowley asked as he sat beside Raphael in the workroom, both rolling bandages. “You could just miracle it done.”

Raphael nodded absently. “Several reasons. For starters…” He placed a finished roll in the box and collected another strip of material. “…I happen to like this sort of work. It’s like meditation, with your hands involved. It focused my mind and reminds me of my purpose.”

“Okay…” Crowley thought of a few sarcastic comments, which he refrained from making. He was surprised to reflect that he held his tongue out of respect and politeness rather than believing such comments would be punished. 

Reflecting on that made him look down at his own hands. The steady work he’d done in Raphael’s home _had_ felt centering. Comforting in its steadiness. That, after all, was part of what he’d always liked about gardening. “I guess I get that,” he admitted slowly.

Raphael smiled. “Second, healing is a slow process. It isn’t just done with a miracle.”

“But… it is.”

The Archangel looked amused. “Is it? Are all the memories of your injuries gone and forgotten?”

Crowley shivered. He concentrated on the bandage and didn’t speak until he’d finished. “That’s different.”

“Not really. I can make some injuries disappear with a wave of my hand, but the scars linger. The memories linger. True healing – body, soul, and mind – takes time. Patience. Compassion. Effort.” He tapped the bandage he’d just finished rolling. “What we’re creating right now are miracles.”

Crowley looked up sharply.

“Small miracles to spread around the world. These go to where people cry out the most. Some will soothe small hurts. Some will heal big things… Mostly small pains.”

He smoothed a length of gauze flat, running his hand slowly along the weave before he began rolling. “And the best healing comes from the personal touch. From the beginning of the miracle to the ending.”

“Really?” Crowley quirked a grin. “You’re telling me you went out and sheared all these sheep, wove all this gauze, and now we’re just putting on the final touch?”

“Yes,” Raphael said simply.

Crowley stared.

“I have others who deal with the sheep part,” the Archangel amended. “I’m not good with animals.” He saw Crowley’s look and smiled. “I’ll take you to see my flock some time.”

Crowley shook his head. “You’re serious.”

“I’m not pulling the wool over your eyes, if that’s what you mean.”

The demon gave the Archangel an accusatory glare, which broke at the self-congratulating grin Raphael wore.

“I’ll take you to a comedy club on Earth sometime,” Crowley said. “You can tell the audience all the sheep puns you can think of.”

“That sounds delightful. What’s a comedy club?”

Their talk shifted to Earth as they continued.

Crowley gradually noticed how relaxed he felt. And he didn’t think it was just his overnight in the woods – although he’d certainly woken feeling refreshed and at peace. It was a body finally past its physical vulnerabilities. A place where he’d come to feel safe and contented. And Raphael, who seemed worth trusting. Who’d shown him genuine care and compassion from the first. 

Crowley didn’t feel afraid of him anymore. He was more than willing to do the chores Raphael gave him in thanks for the Archangel’s healing and continued care. He didn’t mind – often even enjoyed – what he was asked to do. Asked, not ordered.

And, it had stopped feeling like politely worded orders.

This morning was the first time he’d deliberately not knelt. He’d forgotten a few times before – spending hours in a state of panic afterwards regarding his lapse. Today he’d cautiously stayed standing… and the look of approval Raphael had given him had almost made him drop in gratitude. 

It was all still bewildering but he was finally registering the truth. 

Gabriel’s truths weren’t universal. Gabriel’s rules had died with Gabriel.

Maybe he didn’t have to crawl anymore.

Maybe he could learn to like himself again.

*****

“The punishments got a little easier after a while,” Crowley said as the evening talk began. “He’d sometimes tell me I was getting better. And then… he said I could have his mercy. If I could pass another test.”

He went over the weeks which followed when he’d lived in delirium. When he’d wandered everywhere blindfolded and learned to follow his master’s voice before all others.

And then the actual test.

“He said Michael would try and make me fail. And he was right about that. She tried to stop me from finishing the course.”

“How many times had you done the course by this point?”

“I don’t know. A lot.”

“And how many times had Michael seen you there?”

“I guess… just the one time. If she was there before, she didn’t say anything.” He frowned, filtering through his memories of the test. He’d been carefully not listening to anyone else, but Michael’s power had briefly cut through his resolve. “She tried to stop me from getting in the water,” he murmured. “And then… she was arguing with Gabriel…”

He could hear Gabriel’s part of the argument clearly. Michael’s words came to him as if through a fog. 

“She may not have wanted me to burn myself,” he said slowly. “But she’d watched me hurt myself before. Holy water wasn’t any worse than all the other things he’d done to me – that she’d let him do to me.”

“But she felt that was a proverbial step too far,” Raphael mused.

“What happened after the test?” the Archangel asked the next night. 

“Gabriel said I’d passed. He took me back to the other cell – the one with the bed. He said that was my last chance. Things were bet…” Crowley trailed off, blinked slowly, then looked up with an accusatory glare at Raphael.

The Archangel looked puzzled. “Did I do something?”

“You ruined my memories.”

Raphael frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I was going to say things were better after that. But now, sometimes not being beaten or not getting so violently raped doesn’t sound like better.” He scowled at the Archangel. “That’s your fault.”

“You’re welcome,” Raphael said mildly. “What did ‘better’ entail?”

“Less time in my cell. He’d take me with him when he worked in his office and have me do things. Like before… except it seemed like it happened more often. And he’d take me other places too. Meetings or when he went to yell at some underlings.” He grimaced. “He’d pull me into empty rooms a lot for… stress relief… in between stuff.” Crowley frowned thoughtfully.

“Is something wrong?”

“Just… sometimes he’d tell someone he’d be with them in a minute… and then he’d take me off somewhere, and he’d use me for a while… Sometimes he even let me recover afterwards. Seemed like he never worried about _when_ things got done.” He frowned for a moment, then shook himself. “He sent me on a lot more errands. Complicated ones.”

“Complicated?”

“Like… he’d tell me to go to the quartermaster to ask for six different things. And then when I’d get back, he’d ask what color tie the quartermaster was wearing. Or how many guards I’d passed.” Crowley shuddered. “He’d taught me not to pay attention to anything except him… then he expected me to notice everything.” 

He contemplated those months after the test – the stretch when his life had been bearable, just with a constant sense of dread that he’d fail in some way and lose what little mercy he’d received. “A lot was the same as before the tests – just stricter. The punishments were still really harsh, but he’d heal me more often afterwards. At least enough that I could walk and didn’t have so many visible bruises.”

He hugged himself tighter with a shiver. “He… he liked making me hurt myself.” He took a few heavy breaths. “He’d turn off the collar so I could.”

One miserable day came to mind. Crowley kneeling on a cold stone floor, Gabriel seated above him in a comfortable chair. The Archangel read in a patronizing voice from a list of ancient laws. He’d occasionally order Crowley to parrot back whatever he’d just read. If wrong – and a single word or the whole sentence didn’t matter – he’d say, ‘ _Pull out a feather_.’ And Crowley would yank another feather out by the root. Sometimes Gabriel had simply paused and ordered a feather plucked for no apparent reason. Crowley had been a mess of blood and tears by the time it was over – his wings a tattered ruin.

“There were more stretches where he didn’t hurt me enough to count,” Crowley continued during the next session. “Just the raping and the tests. I was used to those. And, he could be kind. He was kind more often then. I thought…” He looked up at Raphael, slightly defiant, mostly just resigned. “I got used to that life. I thought that was it. I tried to be exactly what he wanted. I thought I could bear it. If I could just be good enough that it wouldn’t get worse.” 

He shuddered, his voice dropping low. “And then… it got worse.”


	19. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the flashback that's been hinted at since the beginning of the story - the reason why Crowley had so many injuries when Raphael found him. Buckle up. It's a rough one.

_Heaven was quiet beyond the office glow._

_Gabriel’s work seemed to be winding down. He paused more often to stretch and drew new documents toward himself with slow reluctance._

_Crowley sat on the floor, a low table in front of him, transcribing Gabriel’s notes from shorthand into proper, carefully written letters. His hand was cramping after several hours at the task, but he ignored the sensation. He liked this far more than filing – less chance of making noise and drawing Gabriel’s attention._

_The work session had been mostly calm. Crowley was warily starting to hope he’d get through it with only the usual discomfort when Gabriel deposited him in his cell and then went off to do whatever he did when he wasn’t working or hurting Crowley._

_The office door flew open and crashed against the wall._

_Gabriel and Crowley both startled and looked up. Gabriel cast a sharp glare in Crowley’s direction. The demon dropped his eyes with a tingle of dread._

_“Gabriel.” Michael’s voice rang crisp and clear from the doorway. “A word.”_

_Gabriel folded his hands primly. “What?”_

_“My office.”_

_They glared at one another across the expanse of the room. At last, Gabriel rose with a long-suffering sigh and followed her out._

_Crowley shifted to his knees and resumed working, writing slower now that his hands were beginning to tremble in anticipation. Michael put Gabriel in a temper. Gabriel would be looking for mistakes upon his return._

_Minutes passed._

_The office door opened and closed._

_Crowley carefully didn’t look up or halt._

_Footsteps closed rapidly in on him._

_Crowley had an instant to brace himself, then strong hands seized him by the shirt and hair and threw him into the bookshelf._

_Crowley hit the floor in a shower of books and files. He scrambled to reach his knees, but Gabriel was on him, fists striking wildly and brutally._

_He was yanked from the floor and flung into another wall. He hadn’t even registered landing before Gabriel pounced, hitting and kicking with abandon._

_Crowley caught a glimpse of Gabriel’s eyes as he was hefted off the ground and slammed into the filing cabinet. They were wild and frenzied – more red than violet. If he saw Crowley’s brief eye contact, it didn’t register._

_For the first time in a long time, Crowley tried to defend himself. He clutched his arms around his neck and face, trying at least to protect his eyes. He curled into a ball, no longer making any attempt to reach his knees before the next blow fell._

_Through his terror came a rapid surge of confusion. This wasn’t Gabriel as he’d ever seen him. Gabriel at his worst had always been calculated. In control. Focused on one or two ways of hurting Crowley. This was random and unfocused. Brutality of a very different nature._

_Gabriel threw him again, this time dumping Crowley onto the surface of the desk. Crowley didn’t have time to bring up his arms before the fists came down._

_A blow slammed into the screen on the collar, driving it into Crowley’s neck. Crowley dimly heard Gabriel let out a grunt of pain, and the Archangel briefly pulled back._

_Through the narrowed slits of his eyes, Crowley saw Gabriel looking with surprise at his hand which was, presumably, stinging with the unexpected strike against metal. Gabriel glanced around the office, then dragged Crowley off the desk by a fistful of shirt. He snapped his fingers._

_Crowley barely registered his cell before Gabriel threw him again. His head slammed into the corner of the sink, and he let out an involuntary cry as blood splattered down his back._

_“Shut up!” Gabriel roared, wrenching Crowley from the ground by the shirt. “Just, SHUT UP!” He spun, slamming Crowley against the wall and bashing his head into the unyielding surface several times for emphasis._

_Through the dizziness, Crowley heard a rattle of chains and braced himself for whatever was coming next._

_There were, in the cell, two iron rings affixed to the ceiling against the wall to facilitate Gabriel’s hobby of stringing Crowley up by the wrists for convenient assault. He strung him up now, using the rings in the second joints of Crowley’s wings instead of the demon’s arms. The chains yanked taut, leaving Crowley balancing on the balls of his feet._

_His head hung low, his mind dazed and dark from too many blows. Dimly, he heard Gabriel snap his fingers, followed by a splashing sound. Weary dread sank through him. He struggled to open his eyes enough to register what came next._

_A table had appeared, a shallow pan of water resting innocently on top._

_Crowley watched Gabriel swirl several strips of fabric through the water, then stalk toward the demon, fury radiating with every movement._

__Please be diluted, please be diluted, _Crowley whispered in his mind… then wondered if maybe he wanted the opposite to be true._

_Despite his hands still being free, Crowley made no movement of resistance as Gabriel dragged his head up by the hair and stuffed the cloth into his mouth. Crowley choked as the first trickle of burning water seared his throat, keening a stifled wail which only infuriated his master further._

_Gabriel seized the pan and yanked Crowley’s head back, sloshing water over the demon’s face and into his wide-open mouth._

_Crowley squeezed his eyes shut in frail protection. He clutched his hands to his chest, digging his nails into his wrists._ Don’t fight, don’t resist. _If he was good… If he did what his master wanted…_

_His chin was shoved to his chest as Gabriel knotted the gag into place, cinching the cloth viciously tight as he did._

_Crowley opened his eyes in time to see Gabriel thoughtfully eyeing the pan of water. The Archangel’s foot shot out, kicking Crowley’s legs out from under him. His wings took his full weight, wrenching painfully against the chains. Something popped in his left wing, and he reared back his head at the fresh wave of agony._

_Gabriel shoved the pan beneath Crowley’s flailing feet and forced them down into the puddle. Crowley flinched away, but the stabbing from his wings begged for a moment’s relief, even if it came at the expense of searing heat, and he forced his feet to endure the burning and his body’s weight._

_A snap of the Archangel’s fingers filled the pan to the brim. With barely a glance at his handiwork, the angel stalked from the cell. He snapped his fingers twice in passing._

_The first snap eliminated Crowley’s tattered clothes._

_The second took out the lights._

_Crowley hung by his wings, his feet tucked above the waterline, his head tossing madly against the burning in his mouth. And still he didn’t dare raise his hands to do anything about his suffering._

_His first thought through the pain was to wish Gabriel had restrained his hands. At least then he wouldn’t have to fight down the urge to remove the gag._

_He hung in agony, alternating between providing brief relief to his feet and wings. That was all he dared do. He didn’t try to kick the pan away or loosen the knot at the back of his neck. Gabriel could appear at any moment, and the only thing worse than his current suffering would certainly be whatever his master would do should Crowley attempt to_ ease _that suffering._

_Eventually, his mind shut down. He hung limp from his wings, his feet raised above the water line. Gradually, his feet would sink, and he’d be jolted awake by the burning water. He’d yank them up again, but it wouldn’t last. Eventually he was too exhausted and ill to raise his feet, and he surrendered to the searing pain as another agony to be borne._

_He drifted in and out of delirium, awakening in a twisted panic of certainty that his eyes were gone. The reminder that he’d not been blinded brought him no relief. It was just another thing Gabriel might take from him._

_Despite being near-mindless with agony, he’d been well-trained to recognize and orient toward his master. He felt the shift of air in the room, the soft sound of expensive, leather shoes suddenly appearing on a carpeted floor. He squeezed his eyes shut._

_Just in time as light flooded the room._

_Afraid to make eye contact, but very anxious to judge his master’s mood, Crowley cracked his eyes open._

_The Archangel looked strangely disheveled. His suit was rumpled. His hair was out of place. There was blood on his hands, and it looked too fresh to be Crowley’s._

_What truly mattered to Crowley was that Gabriel looked as furious as he had before._

_The Archangel snapped his fingers, and the chains vanished._

_One foot refused to take Crowley’s weight and crumpled. The other hit the ground at a bad angle, wrenching beneath Crowley with a snap he barely even felt. He landed on his arms and face, his knees falling into the pan and splashing the caustic liquid over his stomach._

_Crowley’s vision swam, and he fought not to pass out. The moment the world flickered into focus, he dragged himself toward his master’s feet._

__What have I done wrong? _he begged in his mind._ I’m sorry, Master. Please. I know I deserve it. I know I’m unworthy. But please, how have I displeased you? Please tell me my faults. I’ll fix them! I’ll be good. I can be better! Please… __

_Gabriel seized the knotted cloth at the back of Crowley’s neck and hauled him from the ground, driving the gag deeper into Crowley’s inflamed mouth. “What have you done?!” the Archangel demanded._

_Gagged, Crowley couldn’t answer the bewildering question. He let out a confused, hoarse whimper to assure his master he was_ trying _to pay attention,_ trying _to obey. If Master would only tell him how…_

_Gabriel released him, and Crowley crashed back to the floor. A snap of the Archangel’s fingers eliminated the gag._

_Crowley coughed weakly, blood and broiled flesh dripping from his mouth. He tried to whisper the required ‘_ thank you _’ but no sound came out save a thin rasp._

_Gabriel’s foot connected solidly with his right side. Repeatedly the Archangel kicked him. Crowley found he had no strength to even curl away from the assault. He listened to his ribs break, the pain only a distant thing amidst all his other suffering._

_“I gave you another chance!” Gabriel roared as his foot sank into the demon’s side. “I gave you a purpose! And everything you didn’t deserve!” He broke off kicking and dragged Crowley up by the hair. “Your precious bed? Some relief from the suffering you absolutely deserve? Wasn’t that good enough for you?!”_

__It was! _Crowley screamed in his mind._ I don’t want anything else! I want to please you! It’s all I want. Please, what have I done? _Out loud, he strained for a small ‘_ I’m sorry _’, which came out as a slur and a dribble of blood._

_Gabriel slapped his hand against Crowley’s face and held it there for a moment. Crowley was surprised by the brief surge of healing grace. Not a lot. Not particularly targeted. But enough of his tongue reformed that he thought he could answer. If he just knew what he was supposed to say._

_Gabriel slammed him back to the ground, crushing his head to the carpet with a hand clamped at the back of his neck._

_“All these lies! Deceptive, lying serpent. I thought I could make you into something useful, but no. You’ll always be filth. Just a snake to be ground into the dirt.”_

_A snap, then Crowley felt bare skin against his hips. He choked down a terrified sob._

_“You’re mine!” Gabriel snarled, his hands clawing possessively as he pulled the demon backwards against him. “No one else will ever touch you! No one will ever even lay eyes on you again! Michael and her_ Project Trojan _can rot.” His arm wrapped in a strangle-hold around Crowley’s neck, smothering him with his weight and presence. “I’ll take you where no one will ever find you. Just you and me for eternity.”_

_Crowley sobbed openly as he was pushed down. He didn’t understand what was happening. His master said he was at fault, and it had to be true… but what had he done wrong?_

_“I’m sorry,” he whimpered as Gabriel ravaged him. “…Please…” He wasn’t sure if the cries were loud enough to be heard over Gabriel’s animalistic snarls._

_This was the Archangel as Crowley had never known him. Beyond unpredictable. All veil of control and sanity was gone. He snarled broken, nonsense sentences over Crowley’s head. Things which made no sense and had nothing to do with the demon crushed and shaking beneath him. Crowley tried to understand, tried to guess how he was meant to respond. But it was all too much of a riddle for his exhausted and agonized mind. All he knew was that he’d failed. And he was all out of second chances._

_Gabriel slammed Crowley’s head into the ground as he finished. He lay with his whole weight on top of the demon, panting hard against Crowley’s ear._

_“He’ll never find you,” he whispered as his fingers found the dial on the collar and raised it several degrees. “And when I’m done, there won’t be enough left of him, or you, for anyone to find.”_

_He withdrew abruptly and stormed out the door._

_Crowley didn’t dare get off the ground. Much as he wanted to crawl to the sink and try to clean away some of the blood. Much as he wanted to collapse on his side and sob. He allowed himself a few minutes to pant and weep. Then he forced his legs under himself and crawled into the submissive, kneeling pose._

_Master would return. And when he did, Crowley would be waiting for him._

_He didn’t know how he’d make this right. He didn’t know how he’d regain Master’s mercy. But it was all he had._

_The only thing that mattered._

_Head to the ground, body shaking with pain and terror, Crowley shifted toward the door and waited for his master’s return._

* * *

“He never came back,” Crowley whispered as he finished the story. 

“You didn’t move that whole time?”

Crowley shook his head. “It was the only thing I could do. The only thing that might make him… happy.” He let out a long breath. “Some angels came eventually and wanted me to go with them. I wouldn’t. And then, you came… and you know the rest.” He looked up abruptly. “I… I know you want to talk about it… but, not now? I just… want to think.”

Raphael nodded. “Do whatever you need to do.”

Crowley started from the room, then came back and halted before the Archangel. It felt so very wrong to be standing while Raphael sat. Crowley fought against the urge to kneel.

He cautiously took Raphael’s hand in his. Steeling himself, he raised his eyes and met the Archangel’s gaze – no sunglasses to protect himself. “I just… Thank you.” His eyes fell closed. “For taking me away from there. For helping me. For listening. Thank you.”

“I’m here for you, Crowley,” Raphael said gently. “Whatever you need.”

Crowley nodded. He started to speak, tried to convey all he felt. He broke off and fled the room.

He slept in the forest again. And though he felt no warm presence, his nightmares stayed far away. Pure and healing sleep until daylight banished the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's as bad as it gets, friends. The rest of the flashbacks will be much easier to digest.


	20. Chapter 18

Crowley sat on the balcony rail and watched the dancing ripples in the sky. A new nebula was forming – gases and dusts coming together to birth a new star. Somewhere far beyond where he could see, Crowley thought he heard the distant voices of the stars warbling encouragement to the new life just emerging.

The day had been a silent and solitary one. Crowley had not returned to the house after awakening. Instead he’d followed the creek up toward the mountains until he found the waterfalls. He’d stared at them for a while, feeling no joy at their beauty. Then he’d trudged his way back home.

The conclusion of the story had left him feeling hollow. He had thought he’d feel better once it was over. All his horrors spoken aloud and made real. But he felt as if there was nothing left of him. Like all his being was what Gabriel had made him. And in exorcising Gabriel’s control, he’d lost himself. 

Was there anything left of him?

He found some fragments of himself in the garden. 

The bush perked up as he approached and turned a branch toward him for inspection.

“You’ve been busy,” he remarked, managing a small smile.

The white petals had changed shape. Instead of tight, round clusters, they’d become longer, spiky tips. Streaks of reddish-purple ran along each petal, ending with a tip of violet.

Crowley didn’t want to say purple was not a color he really liked anymore. Not with the bush quivering and acting hopeful of praise. This was about what the bush needed, not him. He squatted down and put a hand on the trunk. “Do you feel happier now?”

The bush rustled an uncertain sound. 

“I think it’s great you’re learning creativity. Keep experimenting. Color. Shape. Find out what makes you happy.” He hesitated a moment. He’d never talked to plants this way before. “I’m proud of you.”

Several buds erupted with brand new blossoms.

“Easy!” Crowley said with a smile. “Don’t strain yourself. This takes energy, you know. You don’t have to grow all at once. A little bit at a time.” He tapped a short branch whose buds hadn’t opened yet. “Why don’t you think about what else you want to try for a few days, then try this branch? If you don’t like something, you can always drop your petals and try again. 

“That goes for the rest of you.” He rose abruptly and faced the rest of the ornamental garden. “If anyone else wants to try creativity, go for it. But remember.” He crossed his arms and tried to look severe. “I’m in charge here. So, stay in your assigned areas. No shading out your neighbors. And if I don’t like something…” His eyes trailed meaningfully toward the loppers, then back to the plants, his gentler grin returning. “…We’ll discuss it,” he conceded. 

He started to walk away, then spun around. “Oh, and don’t you _dare_ tell the herb garden I’m going easy on you! Got that?!”

He felt more of himself returning after that.

Still, he stayed away from Raphael. It was enough to know there was someone nearby if he needed company. He didn’t want it quite yet. He had to figure things out first.

He didn’t go to the table as evening fell. He went up to the balcony instead. Several hours passed as he watched the sky and didn’t quite think about his past.

He heard steps on the stairs which paused at the doorway. He glanced back with a little nod of permission before returning his eyes to the sky.

Raphael came and leaned on the balcony rail beside him. 

They watched the sky in silence for a long time. Then –

“What’s your name?”

Raphael spoke the question into the silence of the evening.

It didn’t feel out of place. It didn’t feel like an intrusion.

Just the next stage in the healing they’d begun.

“Crowley,” the demon said slowly. “It’s been other things… but that’s what I call myself.”

Raphael waited a moment. “What are you?”

Crowley thought for a while. “A demon,” he said at last. “I was an angel once. Then a demon. A field agent. Then a prisoner… A slave.” He took a breath. “I don’t know what I am now.”

“And what am I to you?”

Crowley turned slowly to study him. “You’re not my master.” It was a statement of certainty. “You never were, were you?”

Raphael shook his head. “No.”

“I was the one who said it,” Crowley went on. “I was the one who needed it to be true. To make the world make sense. You didn’t stop me.”

“It seemed the only way to convince you to come with me.” Raphael’s eyes didn’t leave the sky. “Are you angry?”

Crowley seriously considered the question, then shook his head. “I wouldn’t have gone with you otherwise.” He paused a moment. “Are you my jailer?”

“No. You can leave at any time. I’d ask you to let me assist if you want to leave Heaven. If that’s what you choose, I’ll escort you to the escalators.”

Crowley filed that away for another day. Knowing he could leave was enough for now. He spoke slowly. “Then, what are you to me?” 

Raphael turned to look at him. “I’m your doctor.” His eyes were quiet and honest. “I’m also your legal counsel if you require it.”

Crowley let that sink in. “Am I on trial?”

“No. But you could be a key witness for several important cases. If you choose to be.”

Crowley focused his eyes on the nebula and let his mind drift with the dance of the night sky. “You said there are things you haven’t told me. Are you going to?”

“When you’re ready. But first I’d need the whole story of what happened to you.”

Crowley considered. “I told you most things. All the important parts… except what he did to my wings…” He rubbed his shoulder as his eyes drifted down to study the ground.

“Aziraphale.”

The name cut through the night’s stillness like a bullet. It shot through Crowley’s memories, ripping open a thousand scabbed over wounds. Recollections flooded his mind. All the things he wasn’t allowed – couldn’t allow – to be real. 

He saw a thousand moments. Wine and dinners and ducks and theatre and music and… _Him_.

He nearly fell from the railing at the first wave. His fingers sank into the stone, clutching it hard enough to cut into his hands. His vision swirled ultra-violet. The world spun.

He regained enough of himself to catch his balance and pull his legs tight to his chest. He buried his head behind his knees.

A brief thought flickered through his mind that he’d absolutely lost the opportunity to say a casual, ‘ _I don’t know what you’re talking about._ ’

Raphael’s gaze never left the sky. When he spoke, his tone was calm, seemingly oblivious to the demon’s distress. “Gabriel never broke you. Somehow, impossibly, you never gave up that one secret. You endured endless hours of torture and suffering, but you never told him the truth about that one thing. Even after you’d offered up every piece of yourself for his pleasure, you never said the one thing which might have caused someone else pain.”

Crowley breathed hard as the tears poured down his cheeks.

“This is the only time I’ll ask,” Raphael went on. “I won’t pressure you. I won’t bring it up again. If you choose silence, nothing changes. We go on with your healing and leave it alone. This place is your home as long as you choose to reside with me. That won’t ever change. No one will harm you here or demand your secrets.”

Crowley struggled to find his voice. “What happens if I tell you everything?” he asked in a hoarse and guarded tone.

“To you? Nothing. Nor do your secrets leave this place unless you authorize it.”

“What about _him_?” Crowley knew what the question was admitting to, but there was no point in denying it. 

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Then I won’t say anything.”

Raphael nodded and didn’t reply.

Crowley watched him, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

All his old fears that all this kindness had merely been a way to lull him into complacency to unwittingly reveal that one thing… to reveal Aziraphale… rushed back. But tempered against suspicion and anger was evidence to the contrary. Because he’d come to trust Raphael. And he couldn’t quite believe this was an act.

Hell had taught him suspicion. Humanity had shown him duplicitousness time and again. He’d seen plenty who believed that the rightness of their cause erased any wrongdoings. He’d had a good sense for honesty once upon a time. It had been part of his line of work. Finding doubts he could exploit.

Gabriel had ruined that sense. He’d had to believe and cling to any scrap of kindness his master threw him just to keep from falling into absolute despair. He’d had to believe Gabriel’s gentle touch, believe he could earn mercy. 

Looking back now, it was easier to see how he’d been manipulated. How Gabriel’s softer moments had been lies. Fragments of gentleness to make Crowley believe Gabriel’s world was the only one. Fragments of hope he could treasure. Fragments Gabriel could take from him.

Life had not been like that for months. Raphael had given openly and honestly. There wasn’t a sense of duplicity about him. Even what he hid, he hid honestly. He’d never denied there were things he was keeping from Crowley, a statement which had made the demon willing to wait. 

He didn’t want to believe Raphael would betray him. He’d been hurt too much. He wanted… _needed_ … someone he could believe at face value.

_Aziraphale_.

It stung to even think the name. The identity he’d denied. The memories he’d collected, locked away, and pretended had never happened. They still felt unreal.

Except now he couldn’t NOT think the name. Couldn’t stop the longing from flooding him.

_Aziraphale… Are you still there? Did you look for me?_ And a darker question – _Did you even notice I was gone?_

Every thought of Aziraphale was colored with Gabriel’s venom. Nothing felt pure and beautiful. And what would Aziraphale think of him? Crowley who’d sold his body for the occasional relief from pain. Who’d crawled, cried, and bled for another’s amusement. Who’d always been unworthy of an angel’s love.

Who could have corrupted and destroyed the thing most precious to him with just a touch.

He didn’t believe Aziraphale had sold him out… except when he did. He’d been living Gabriel’s truths for so long. It was still hard to find his own thoughts. His own beliefs.

But what was certain was that he still loved Aziraphale. Even if his angel had betrayed him. Even if his angel had never loved him. Even if his memories weren’t real. He’d still preserve that truth.

And he’d never betray him. 

But there was a part of him that wanted to tell Raphael. Several parts.

The part of him which was still the loyal and groveling slave wanted to tell his master what he wanted to hear. Who needed to please his master no matter the cost, no matter the pain. If Raphael asked this of him, of course Crowley would give it.

Then there was the part of him which had come to understand the value of talking through his pain. Which wanted to share. Which hoped the healer could help him piece out what was real. Could help separate the poison from the pure.

And the part that wanted to take that leap of faith. To prove his trust wasn’t unfounded. That this angel who’d been so kind to him really was what he seemed.

“Why did you take me in?” he asked suddenly.

“I was called,” Raphael replied, eternally unsurprised by changes in subject.

“By who?” 

Raphael turned his head, a small smile on his face. “By one who saw your suffering had gone on far too long.”

Crowley slipped off the railing and stood with his arms wrapped defensively around his stomach. “Who?” he asked in a guarded tone.

Raphael’s eyes returned to the sky. “Does it surprise you that someone would see your suffering and want to alleviate it?”

“Nobody ever seemed to care.” Crowley studied the ground. “Why’d it take so long for someone to say anything if they did?”

Raphael sighed. “I don’t know the reasons things happen. If I was allowed to eliminate all pain at the source, I would. But you of all beings in creation should know why none of us can be kept ignorant and at peace forever.”

Crowley thought of a garden long ago. His tongue flicked across his lips, abruptly more forked than it usually was in this corporation. He leaned on the railing beside Raphael. “So that’s your reason? I got tortured because ignorance is wrong?”

“Free will,” Raphael corrected softly. “We all have to make our choices. Including Gabriel.”

“Didn’t seem like I got a lot of choices while he was painting the floor with my blood,” Crowley muttered bitterly. 

“You still chose to protect something precious.” Raphael turned his head to look at him with calm and admiring eyes. “That’s a beautiful choice.”

Crowley slouched down until his head rested on the balcony rail. “You promise anything I say doesn’t get repeated?”

“Anything you tell me is between the two of us. I won’t reveal anything without your permission.”

The demon warred with himself for another long stretch. The need to keep silent struggled with the desire to rest the burden he’d carried so long. To share with someone how much he’d loved. How very lonely he felt. 

To take that leap of trust.

“I met him in the Garden,” he said softly. “He was the only angel around who didn’t seem like a complete prick and who was willing to talk to me…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, I guess? Crowley remembered he was in love finally.


	21. Chapter 19

Crowley sat sprawled against the wall in Raphael’s office, absently watching the Archangel write. Despite understanding he wasn’t restricted to the floor, he still found it easier to sit there when he didn’t feel up to fighting his training. 

He was exhausted. Telling his memories of Aziraphale had been arduous. He’d fought Gabriel’s orders to forget and deny those feelings every step of the way. Orders which had come with systematic beatings anytime Gabriel had thought Crowley’s memories were drifting in that direction until Crowley had been well-conditioned to avoid anything which even whispered of Aziraphale. 

Not to mention it was a secret he’d kept for 6,000 years. To simply _tell_ someone he’d been in love, and been loved in return, was a terrifying struggle. 

Plus, the story had required going over his ordeal again. At last filling in the reason everything had happened to him. The answer he’d refused to give Gabriel. What he’d dreamed of in his bed until it had been taken from him. Gabriel’s lies (maybe?) of Aziraphale’s betrayal. The scorn he’d envisioned in Aziraphale’s face each time Gabriel forced him to stoop to a new level of degradation. The reason he’d failed Michael’s test. What it had cost him to receive a second chance. 

He’d told it all in one go, aware he’d never be able to start again if he halted. Raphael had listened, largely silent, as Crowley struggled his way through. At some point they’d gone down to the garden where Crowley had sat beside the bush, taking comfort from the nearness of something else still trying to understand itself. 

He’d fallen silent in the end, drained in a way recounting his ordeal had not taken out of him. He hadn’t wanted to be alone, much as he’d wanted to rest. He’d trailed Raphael to the office, mostly passing out against the wall while the Archangel scratched out notes. Crowley supposed they were about him. He didn’t have the energy to care.

When he awoke, there was a blanket tucked around him. 

Raphael had moved to a chair by the window and was reading quietly. 

It was full daylight outside.

Crowley sat up, groggy and ill. “Sorry,” he said in a slur.

“For what?” the Archangel asked.

Crowley gestured at him vaguely. “Keeping you from… whatever you wanted to be doing.”

Raphael smiled gently. “How do you know this isn’t exactly what I want to be doing?”

Crowley grinned sleepily back. “What happens now?”

“Well, I’d suggest you go to bed and get a proper rest. When you’re ready, we’ll discuss where we go next with your healing and events transpiring beyond this place. But there’s no rush. If you’d like to take a few days…”

The demon shook his head. “I want to know.” He yawned. 

Raphael smiled. “Rest. We’ll talk tonight.”

Crowley nodded and rose with heavy use of the wall. “Goodnight, Ma… R… R-Raph…” It felt very wrong. He trembled, turning helpless and frightened eyes on the Archangel.

“Doctor?” Raphael suggested gently.

Crowley’s fright vanished in a rush. “Doctor,” he agreed. He could handle that. Work his way up to calling angels by their names again. As if he was their equal. He shuddered at the forbidden thought, then pushed down the fear. Something to work on. “Goodnight, Doctor.” 

He made it as far as the sitting room and flopped face-first onto the sofa. Not a bed, but close enough. 

He was out almost immediately.

*****

They’d gone to the balcony to talk. Raphael leaning on the rail and Crowley sitting on it. It placed his head higher than the Archangel’s, which felt wrong. As did sitting while his ~~master~~ doctor stood. But it was getting easier to perform small acts of… disobedience? No… normalcy. He wondered how long before he didn’t have to make a deliberate effort to think about what used to be normal.

“I know you have questions,” Raphael began. “And there are things it’s time I told you. First, I want to make it clear where we go regarding you.”

Crowley’s stomach churned with mild unease, but he fought it down. Raphael wasn’t going to throw him out. He knew that – mostly.

Indeed, the Archangel’s first words were exactly to that point. “As I’ve said, this is your home for as long as you desire it. I think we can agree that, despite the story being told, there is still quite a lot to work on regarding your recovery.”

Crowley nodded.

“You aren’t a prisoner here. You may leave if you choose. My _advice_ …” He put heavy emphasis on the word. “…is that you remain here. We’ll continue to talk and work through your troubles. We’ll start performing some exercises to help break you of your training. Begin having you interact on equal footing with more angels than just occasional visitors. But, staying here is your choice.”

Crowley rested his head on his knees. “I’d like to stay,” he said after a moment. “I know I’m not better yet.” He raised his eyes to Raphael. “And I like it here.”

Raphael smiled.

“Plus, Hell’s going to have some words with me as soon as they notice I’m back on Earth,” Crowley grumbled. “I’d like to be ready to deal with their _feelings_ without having a complete panic attack.” He sighed. “I suppose it’s too much to hope they didn’t notice I was gone. They may not pay that much attention to me, but it’s been something like two years. They’ve probably noticed I haven’t been checking my phone.”

Raphael’s mouth quirked as if he wanted to say something, but he remained silent.

“I…” Crowley hesitated, then plunged on. “I do want to see Aziraphale.” He hugged his legs tighter to his chest with a shiver.

He wasn’t sure he could handle Aziraphale’s disgust when he saw what Crowley had become. When he learned what Crowley had done. But it was disgust Crowley rightly deserved. He needed to apologize. To swear he’d never meant to tempt Aziraphale toward Falling. Or toward Heaven’s outrage. 

And he needed to know the truth. Know if Aziraphale had really betrayed him.

No… that wasn’t the truth. Just Gabriel’s lies. He knew his angel better than that.

Except in the terrible moments when he didn’t.

Crowley trembled. “I want to see him,” he repeated. “But I don’t know how without Heaven catching on. I don’t want him in danger.”

Raphael hesitated. “That’s something for us to discuss,” he agreed. “For now, are you willing to remain here and not try to return to Earth?”

Crowley nodded. “Yes. He’s the only reason I’d leave anyway.”

Raphael smiled quietly. “I’m glad you’re happy here. I like having you.”

Crowley grinned. “I can’t go just yet. I’m still trying to convince your garden to behave.”

“It does look incredible since you took it over.”

“It’s getting there.” 

He watched Raphael’s face, noticing a look of sadness fall over the angel’s features, the tension in his shoulders.

Crowley closed his eyes. There were questions which had been hovering over him since the beginning, some growing louder with each passing day.

It was time to ask.

He took a breath and opened his eyes. “Is Gabriel alive?”

Raphael’s eyes didn’t leave the horizon. “Yes.”

Crowley hugged himself tighter and forced his breathing to remain steady. It wasn’t a surprise. He’d never entirely believed his omnipotent tormentor could simply be gone. But life had been much easier believing Gabriel was nothing but a shadow he might one day outrun.

He wasn’t that lucky.

“What did I see that day?” he asked, fighting down the trembling in his voice.

“His empty body. He was discorporated in a failed murder attempt. He was confined immediately on charges of war crimes and misusing powers. He was only given a corporation again recently. And since that moment, he’s lived in a cell, shackled to eliminate his powers, awaiting his trial.” Raphael watched Crowley’s face as if searching for how the words would affect the demon.

There was poetic justice in it, Crowley thought. But not enough to make him happy. Honestly, he didn’t want to see Gabriel confined. Or tortured. Or made low. He just wanted him _gone_. Gone as if he’d never existed. 

So Crowley might at last be free.

“At the same time he was incarcerated, Michael and everyone else associated with _Project Trojan_ was arrested.”

“Gabriel mentioned that… _Project Trojan_. What is it?”

“The simple answer would be you.”

Crowley frowned, the unease in his stomach increasing. “What did they want from me? I thought it was just about Aziraphale. Except… that stopped mattering.”

“No. Your abduction had very little to do with Aziraphale, except that it made you a convenient target. And your field agent status meant Heaven hoped you could be made to disappear for a while without Hell noticing.”

“They probably shouldn’t have kept me so long if that was their plan,” Crowley muttered.

Again, Raphael’s mouth twitched. He sighed and studied the distance. “Your abduction had little to do with Aziraphale,” he repeated. “But your current state has everything to do with him. You should know he loves you as much as you believed.”

“How do you know?”

“Because… he’s currently on trial for murder, and attempted murder, and an assault upon Heaven.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'll just go hide over here while you all scream, okay?


	22. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone! I didn't mean to leave you on a cliffhanger _quite_ that long. But we're back. Thanks for all the love and concern. I'll try not to drop off the face of the Earth again until the story is done.

_“Ma’am?”_

_Michael looked up from her desk as her assistant, more wide-eyed and alarmed than usual, appeared at her office door. “Yes?”_

_“There are Archangels to see you!” the assistant gasped out._

_Michael tried to keep her expression calm as she thought, not for the first time, that some angels just weren’t cut out for the stress of bureaucracy. “_ Who _is here to see me?” she asked as gently as she could. By the reaction she assumed it wasn’t Uriel or Gabriel, unless Gabriel was acting even stranger than he had lately._

_The assistant leaned across Michael’s desk and spoke in a whisper. “It’s Raguel,” she said in a voice filled with awe. “And Raphael!”_

_Michael felt a stir of unease. If Raguel had come out of seclusion, something was probably wrong. If Raphael was with her, something was definitely wrong. “Send them in.”_

_She rose and came around her desk as the Archangels entered the room. Both were looking slightly ruffled from a long flight. Raguel carried a letter crushed in her hand. Raphael deftly extracted a similar letter from his jacket as they approached her._

_Michael caught the divine aura emanating from the paper. Her breath hitched. “Raguel. Raphael. Greetings.” She glanced at the letters and back at them. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”_

_“I’m here about a murder,” Raguel said, ever to the point._

_“I… wasn’t aware we’d had a murder,” Michael said faintly._

_Raguel shrugged. “It may not have happened yet. Sometimes **She** likes me to get a head start on these things.”_

_Raphael glanced at the paper in his hand, then to Michael with a frown. “I’ve been summoned regarding a demon.” His puzzled look deepened. “If the Mettatron hadn’t brought the missive themself, I’d think there was a mistake. Is there a demon here?”_

_Michael wondered if she should send someone to check on Gabriel. “Yes,” she admitted. “But he’s not in any state to be able to hurt anyone.”_

_“I’m sorry, I wasn’t clear.” Raphael turned the letter around and pointed to a sentence. “I’ve been called to_ heal _the demon.”_

_Michael read a line direct and frightening from the Creator’s lips._

**‘My Fallen Child has suffered long enough at Heaven’s hypocritical touch.’**

_She stepped back, blinking hard. “ **Her** child…? But that’s not possible.”_

_“I don’t see why not,” Raphael said evenly. “ **She** created them the same as **She** did us. They _were _us at one point.”_

_“But they Fell! They rebelled. **She** cast them out!”_

_Raphael studied the letter with an impassive expression. “It seems **She** never stopped loving them. Unsurprising, really.” He returned the letter to his jacket. “So, where’s my patient? And why is there a demon here?”_

_“Ma’am!” The assistant ran, almost screeching, into the office. “A message just came from Corporations! Gabriel’s diffused form just appeared!”_

_Raguel smiled grimly. “There’s my murder.”_

_“Authorize a new corporation at once!” Michael snapped._

_Raguel held up a hand. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”_

_“What?!”_

_Raguel scanned down the crumpled paper. “Where is it… ah! **She** says, ‘The murdered is not the victim’.” She folded the letter again. “I’d say **She** ’s not too happy with Gabriel at the moment. And until I learn the whole story, he doesn’t get a new body.”_

_Michael could feel the color draining from her face. “This isn’t possible…”_

_Raphael studied her with professional concern. “Perhaps you should sit down.” He helped her to a chair._

_“I’ll get things straightened out in Corporations,” Raguel said briskly. “Then I’ll need to find Gabriel’s body. Do you know where he was?”_

_“I…” Michael’s mind flitted to the last argument she’d had with Gabriel. “If he’s not in his office or in the demon’s cell… he may have gone to Earth. London.”_

_Raguel departed._

_Raphael took the seat beside Michael. “Michael,” he said gently. “What’s this about? What was Gabriel working on?”_

_“It’s… it couldn’t have been wrong,” Michael murmured faintly. “There’s a war coming.” She looked imploringly at her fellow Archangel. “You must understand. We have to win! The consequences…” She broke off, staring blankly at the ground. “ **Her** children…” she murmured in bewilderment. “They can’t be.”_

_Raphael was silent for a long moment. “I know protecting Heaven is important to you. I respect that. I know you and Gabriel do more than anyone else to keep this place functioning and strong. You’ve done amazing work.” He waited a beat. “Did something happen which might have been… a step too far?”_

_“No!” Michael pushed down her rising doubts. “No, we did the right thing! We need leverage! We need to know what the other side is planning. We… we have to be right…”_

_Her thoughts whirled. Gabriel’s increasingly weird behavior. The terrified and frequently bleeding demon whose suffering she’d deliberately ignored. Multiple angels coming to her with concerns regarding Gabriel. ‘_ Excess force _’ being a term thrown around a lot lately, and not just in relation to the demon._

_“Maybe he was corrupted…” she mumbled uncertainly, not even believing it in her mind._

_Alarms sounded._

_Michael’s wide-eyed assistant rushed in. “Ma’am! We’re being attacked!”_

_*****_

_Michael sat collapsed in her desk chair, her head pounding madly._

_She’d managed to avoid thinking as she’d bolted from the office to contend with the frantic missives from the guards at the escalators. There had been plenty to do, and she’d focused on being very busy with seeing the attacker subdued, the wounded carried off, and new guards assigned. She’d sent Raphael away to manage the injured and Raguel to Earth with better directions for locating Gabriel’s body._

_It had bought her a little time._

_Not enough to ease her churning mind before Raguel and Raphael appeared once again._

_Raguel spoke briskly. “Got the body. Just where you thought it would be. Must have been a rush job or he would have used something more permanent. I’ll begin questioning once the suspect regains consciousness. But until then…” She leaned across the desk, staring intently at Michael. “…I want to know what’s going on.”_

_“And I do need to see my patient,” Raphael prodded gently._

_Michael roused herself. She buzzed for her assistant. “Send someone to fetch the demon.”_

_Raguel waited until the assistant was gone. Her piercing eyes focused on Michael. “Do explain what you and Gabriel were doing.”_

_“It’s classified,” Michael replied, clinging to some fraction of control._

_Raguel snapped her fingers. The office door closed, and a blue-white sheen flashed down the walls. The noise from outside evaporated. “Do explain what you and Gabriel were doing,” she repeated._

_Michael took a breath and clutched her mind around the last shreds of certainty she had. “It’s called_ Project Trojan _. It’s an idea we’ve been working on for a while. There’s a war coming.” She found herself falling into babbled justification. “You know how long we’ve struggled against Hell! We need inside information. We need something to use against them.”_

_“So… you bribed a demon?” Raguel suggested._

_“We wanted something more reliable than that. Someone whose loyalties we could be assured of. And then our surveillance team… Gabriel’s team, actually… indicated a fairly ideal target for an… experiment we’d proposed.”_

_“What kind of experiment?”_

_Michael balked. This had been her pet project for years. It was_ so close _to seeing realization. It couldn’t be wrong. Protecting Heaven couldn’t be…_

_She rambled reluctantly about the early stages of planning, carefully revealing no details, insisting it was classified when Raguel pushed for more. She was relieved to see her assistant waving frantically from the other side of the glass door. A distraction, good. Maybe enough of one to give her time to properly concoct an explanation._

_She unsealed the room and gestured the assistant inside. “What is it?”_

_“The guards say the demon won’t move. Do you want them to use force?”_

_“Y…” Michael had a sudden memory of Crowley fighting her power to step into holy water at Gabriel’s command. “No. That won’t work.”_

_“Why won’t it work?” Raphael looked concerned._

_“It’s… Gabriel conditioned him.” Michael struggled to find a way to tactfully explain. “He won’t listen to anyone besides Gabriel.”_

_Raphael studied her for a long moment. “Tell your people to leave the demon alone. I’ll take care of him.”_

_Michael was not happy to be left alone with Raguel. Especially when Raguel sealed the room again. “Tell me about Project Trojan. From the beginning.”_

_*****_

_Nearly an hour had passed. Michael had not gotten very far into the story – partially because her assistant kept arriving with more urgent and confused missives from around Heaven regarding trashed weapons’ caches and ransacked labs. Partially because she was delaying as much as she could._

_Her mind was a terrified whirl. The project couldn’t have been wrong. It couldn’t! This had to be a mistake. Except… it wasn’t as if the originator of those letters made mistakes. But how could the Fallen be **Her** children? If they were, then everything Michael had worked toward for thousands of years was wrong. That couldn’t… she couldn’t be that far from the truth. Something else was going on._

_Raphael returned, his face a silent mask._

_Raguel looked up at him. “Well?”_

_“I’ve moved him to my room in the hospital wing,” Raphael said tightly. He took a paper and pen from Michael’s desk and began to draw a series of symbols._

_“Did he go with you?” Michael asked curiously._

_“Eventually. I can’t say I like what I had to do to convince him.” The Archangel’s stony expression faltered briefly._

_“What’s his condition?” Raguel asked._

_“Extreme torture,” Raphael said flatly. “I had to walk away for a minute. I’ll go back to do a proper assessment and get him cleaned up shortly. But first, Michael.” He turned the paper around. “I’d like to know what you know about this.”_

_The paper contained an interweaving of two names and the Enochian word for slave._

_Michael felt very ill. “What is that?”_

_Raguel leaned over and studied it with professional interest._

_“It’s a brand burned into the demon’s back with what looks like holy water,” Raphael said sharply. “Since when is Heaven engaging in slavery?”_

_“It… Gabriel was given certain liberties with the project. He found it expedient to condition the demon into considering himself a slave of Heaven.”_

_“It wasn’t Heaven he was calling ‘Master’ when I showed him Gabriel’s body,” Raphael rumbled. “And did those ‘liberties’ include rape?”_

_“Rape? No! I’d never authorize that sort of… And Gabriel wouldn’t…” Michael trailed off, thinking of the way she’d seen Gabriel touching the demon on several occasions. That intimacy she’d told herself wasn’t what it looked like. “Did the demon say that?” she asked, clinging to the hope that Crowley was lying to what he perceived to be a sympathetic ear._

_“He’s said exactly two words. And he cringed like he was expecting to be flayed for saying that much.”_

_“That sounds like an exaggeration,” Raguel muttered._

_Raphael turned slowly. “I just entered a room – in Heaven – to find a naked demon cowering on the floor. Covered in blood. Displaying obvious signs of recent and frequent sexual trauma. Branded as the slave of an Archangel. Who was terrified out of his mind to even look at the body of said Archangel. Who only came along with me when he somehow convinced himself I now_ owned _him.”_

_All professional calm was gone. The healer glared at Michael with blazing eyes. When he spoke, his voice shook with fury. “Explain to me what part of this you ‘authorized’.”_

_Michael’s hopes and resistance broke. “I resign my position,” she said quietly._

_Raguel rose and put a hand on her arm. “Let’s go somewhere more appropriate.”_

_Within an hour, Michael sat in a cell, her powers dampened with shackles, her confidence utterly broken. She leaned her head against the stone wall and wondered if this was exactly what she deserved._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday will either be a chapter or art. We'll see. But there WILL be an update.
> 
> Oh, you can ask any lingering questions about Raphael now. I can safely answer them.


	23. Chapter 21

Crowley studied himself in the washroom mirror. He took a few steadying breaths, tensed, and snapped his fingers.

His clothes altered slightly in cut and turned his preferred shade of black.

He leaned forward on the sink, panting and quivering.

It was one thing to be told he could do miracles. It was another to dare himself to do something which certainly would have resulted in the collar being cranked up to 09 if not higher and left there indefinitely. 

But he’d needed to try. Up until now he’d been washing his frequently dirt-stained clothes in the sink, afraid to ask Raphael for laundry assistance. But today he’d wanted to be properly cleaned and dressed in something which made him feel like himself.

He needed the reassurance.

Raguel was coming today.

Raphael had been slowly relating to him what had happened beyond Crowley’s perception during his captivity and afterwards. Slowly, since a small amount of information was sometimes more than Crowley could handle at one time.

Raphael had shown him the initial proposal for _Project Trojan_. Crowley had been ill afterwards – which was why Raphael did not show him the proposal documenting why Crowley had been picked as the optimal test subject. 

He’d shown him the data read-outs for the collar, and then compared them to an actual calendar. Another piece of news which had left Crowley overwhelmed for days.

He’d been outside of time? For nearly two years? While a little over two months had passed for everyone else? 

“How could he?” Crowley asked in a daze.

“As you said, they wanted to get you back in the field before Hell had too long to wonder about your absence,” Raphael reasoned.

“No, I mean _practically_. I’ve pulled myself out of time before. You start feeling it pretty quickly.”

Raphael’s brow furrowed. “You’ve… controlled time?”

“Maybe not all of it. Just me. And Aziraphale a couple times when he did something stupid.”

“That takes… a great deal of power.”

Crowley shook his head. “More like asking nicely. Time’ll go for it if you figure out how to ask. For a few minutes at least. You get this buzzing in your head. Kind of like the 01 collar setting, actually. You know it’s there and not really thrilled about what you’re doing, so I didn’t do it often.”

“Did others know you could do this?”

“Sure. Half of Hell, probably. I did it for laughs once in a while to prank Hastur… or get away from Hastur. Mostly it was just nice for a head start when I needed to run. Really handy during the witch trial era on Earth. Eyes like mine sometimes led humans to… completely correct assumptions.”

Raphael looked concerned. “Do you know of anyone else who could do this?”

Crowley shook his head. “None of the other demons ever figured out how I did it. And Aziraphale never had the imagination. And he said it wasn’t playing fair… Not that that stopped him from _using_ my distractions when we needed them.” 

“It’s a mostly forgotten ability,” Raphael said. “It wasn’t officially outlawed, but it was considered contrary to divine will. Only **She** is meant to control time.” He contemplated the air for a moment. “Gabriel repeatedly held time still for weeks. Can you imagine what that would do to him?”

Crowley considered seriously. “No… I don’t think I ever did it for even five minutes at once. I could _feel_ time being unhappy with me. I didn’t know what it would do if I tried it for long, and I didn’t want to…” He hesitated, struggling with concepts. “It felt like it was okay if I did it once in a while in an emergency. But it felt like it wouldn’t be right to do it often or for long.” He squirmed, feeling embarrassed. “I didn’t want it mad at me.” He glanced apprehensively at Raphael.

But the Archangel nodded as if that was a perfectly normal statement. “Sensible. But I don’t just mean in restraining time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think of it this way. Gabriel created a world where he was… well… god. The only other being in his world was completely at his mercy. He controlled every second of your life. Every movement. Every privilege and punishment. And outside your cell, there was a silent world filled with frozen angels. He could go anywhere in Heaven. Do whatever he wanted. Say whatever he wanted. No interruptions. No asking others’ opinions. He had the freedom to unleash all his cruelest desires, and no one would ever tell him no. And then, at some point, he’d have to return to reality. Where he was just another angel in Heaven. An important one. But still, he couldn’t control everything anymore.”

He looked at the data sheets. “Even after you were responding to his ‘training’ so there was no justification, he still continued to halt time for lengthy stretches. I suspect he became addicted to that world. The freedom he’d made for himself.” His eyes unfocused. “It’s a wonder he didn’t go insane.”

“Right up at the end, I wondered if he did.” Crowley waited a moment. “Do you know what was going on then? Right before he died?”

“Some of it.” Raphael returned to the moment. “We’ll get to that a little later.”

Crowley had yet to learn the events which had led to Aziraphale’s arrest – only that the principality was safe and awaiting trial. The investigation and trials for everyone involved with _Project Trojan_ were being handled by Raguel, which Raphael said was a guarantee for fairness. 

“Raguel won’t pass a judgment that doesn’t adhere to **Her** will. And she’s a stickler for facts. She’ll find out everything and protect all involved until the moment of trial. Aziraphale is in no danger from anyone in Heaven or Hell.”

“Can I see him?”

“We’ll ask Raguel. I think it will be possible.”

Raphael had asked, and after much consideration, Crowley had agreed, to turn over Crowley’s description of events to Raguel – regarding both Gabriel and Aziraphale. There was ample evidence of Gabriel’s cruelty and misuse of miracles in the story, along with ample evidence which Raphael supposed could be used to collaborate other witnesses’ testimonies. As for Aziraphale, at this point his relationship with Crowley was no secret. Anything Crowley could say to prove their relationship had been lengthy, consensual, and free of attempts to sway the other to the opposing side was sure to help Aziraphale’s defense.

The information delivered, Raguel had asked to meet with Crowley personally. For Aziraphale’s sake, he’d agreed.

The demon went downstairs, clinging nervously to the bannister. He had to take a breath before simply reaching the ground level.

He found Raphael in the workroom and quickly fell into a properly mindless task. They worked that way until a shout from the entryway announced Raguel’s arrival.

Crowley followed anxiously on Raphael’s heels, his arms clutched around his stomach. It was one thing to talk with the angels who occasionally stopped in to visit Raphael, but this was an _Archangel_. One who held control over Aziraphale’s fate.

The Archangels greeted each other in briefest words before attention turned to Crowley. He forced himself to stay still and not hide behind Raphael. (If Gabriel had taught him anything useful it was that hiding wouldn’t get him anywhere.)

Raphael directed them to the table where he and Crowley had spent so many evenings. Crowley slid into his usual seat, grateful when Raphael sat beside him.

“I’m here to verify the honesty of your statements,” Raguel announced without preamble.

Crowley felt a small flash of anger. 

“Obviously some of it correlates to other witness statements…”

“How do you know _they’re_ telling the truth?” The words slipped out. Although Crowley felt the rush of panic course through him to speak like that to an angel, he didn’t fall to immediate groveling. 

For the past two years he’d been told he was nothing. That he was filth. A mistake. Nothing but a slave. His identity and self-esteem had been smashed to dust, leaving him empty and lost once the one identity he had remaining – that of Gabriel’s property – had been taken away. Trying to piece himself back into some semblance of what he’d once been was a daily struggle, easily shattered by the slightest blow. But one piece of his identity was strong – that his suffering had been real. Gabriel had never made him believe his suffering was less than it was. Raphael had never questioned his story. That one thing, at least, he could absolutely feel certain regarding.

It struck him with sudden agony that someone might dispute his one truth. That the word of an angel’s – far more valuable than his – could negate in someone’s mind what he’d endured.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Raphael give him a small look of approval.

Raguel didn’t blink. “I don’t. That’s why I keep all my witnesses spread apart, get everyone’s stories, and see how they match up. What I mean is some things you’ve said were seen by others, so they back you up, same as you back up some of the one’s you’ve seen. Alright?”

Crowley nodded warily.

“And there’s the healer’s assessment.” She nodded at Raphael. “When he says your stories match the wounds, I believe him. The trouble is…” She leaned forward and stared intently at Crowley. “…there are things you say are one way, and Gabriel can say are otherwise, and there’s no one to prove one way or the other.”

Crowley swallowed. “If you can believe the terrible things he did to me in public, why wouldn’t you believe the things no one else saw?”

“Because there are other stories that could fit the injuries. Maybe your hands were torn up because he forced you to handle blessed objects. Or maybe you picked up something deliberately to use against him or yourself. Maybe he forced holy water down your throat, or maybe you drank it yourself.”

“The collar wouldn’t let me hurt myself,” Crowley whispered.

“According to Michael, you stabbed yourself while the collar was at a pain setting which should have prevented you from being able to move. So maybe it wasn’t affecting you as much as you claim.”

“Raguel,” Raphael rumbled in warning.

Crowley flattened his hand over Raphael’s. He was breathing hard, but his mind was still functioning. Yes, it could make sense. Gabriel wouldn’t deny it all. But he might justify some of it. Claim the injuries were a direct result of Crowley misbehaving. Claim he’d acted only as necessary to keep his prisoner contained. He might even be able to talk the brand away. Definitely claim the rapes had been Crowley’s fault – that he’d been tempted beyond his ability to resist.

Gabriel could escape.

And he’d never stop trying to hurt Crowley if he did.

“Have you ever shared memories?” Crowley asked slowly, his eyes fixed on the table. “Aziraphale and I could do it. Give the other a moment of our lives. See and feel everything we went through at that time.” He looked up at the tight-faced justice of Heaven.

Raguel studied him with a sharp and clear expression which gave nothing away.

It occurred to Crowley that the humans had it wrong when they sculpted Justice blind. Raguel saw very clearly.

“It’s a very ancient thing you’re suggesting,” the Archangel said. “It’s rarely done. Few would even suggest it nowadays. Few would be willing to lay bare a piece of themselves.”

“It’ll be the truth, won’t it?” Crowley asked. There was a tremor in his voice, but he talked without breaking. “I can’t influence those memories. You’ll see what I saw. You can make your own judgment about if… if I caused what happened. If I wanted any of what he did.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll give you what I never told anyone. Something nobody but Gabriel and I know. And then, if you ask Gabriel, you’ll see which one of us tells the truth.”

“Crowley…” Raphael said with concern, but Crowley didn’t take his eyes from Raguel. If this was what it took, he’d live the worst over again.

Raguel nodded cautiously. 

Crowley slipped from his chair and stepped around the table. Reaching Raguel, he lifted his hands midway to the Archangel’s temples. “Do you want it?”

Raguel met his eyes. “If you’re prepared to share, I’m prepared to see.” 

He’d never done this with anyone but Aziraphale. His thoughts flooded with longing for his angel. He pushed it down. 

_Not now. Not yet. Soon._

He put his hands to Raguel’s temples and brought their foreheads together. He opened the memory.

He gave it all – The moment he stepped into the room to the sight of the winches. Gabriel’s terrifying statement that they were ‘trying something new’. The blessed chains searing his flesh as he strung them onto his wings under Gabriel’s possessive and pleased gaze. Gabriel’s calm declaration that this was happening purely at his pleasure, not for any punishment of Crowley’s. 

The agony of his wrenched wings. Gabriel’s harsh reminders of his Fall. The brief kindness of his arms restrained followed by more burning chains as Gabriel violated him while he hung helpless, sobbing and delirious with agony. And after… the way Gabriel had carried him back, and told him how good he was, and how he’d wept with joy to have pleased his master.

Raguel jerked away, her eyes huge and horrified. She recoiled from Crowley, whirling to search the room as if expecting danger and pain to come at her unaware.

Crowley sank quietly to the floor and sat with his knees drawn to his chest. He wasn’t sobbing… but it was a near thing. Just focusing on not passing out was all he could manage.

Dimly he felt an arm rest cautiously on his shoulders. He leaned against Raphael’s steady presence. It helped a little.

“That,” Raguel panted, “that was the worst thing he did?”

“That was the first time,” Crowley said quietly, surprised that his voice didn’t break. “He was nicest that time.”

“Nicest?!” Raguel choked. 

Crowley stared at the floor. “He restrained my arms that time. After that, he’d break them if I reached for the chains.” He thought for a moment. “That was the only time he healed me afterwards. Told me what a _good boy_ I was.”

Raguel paced a tight pattern, one hand clutched to her head. 

It was a full minute before she regained control. “You were right about him,” she said to Raphael.

She squatted down and met Crowley’s eyes. “You’re strong,” she said softly, a note of softness coming to her crisp voice. “Don’t let anyone tell you that you deserved a second of that.” She held out her hand.

Crowley took it uncertainly. He was puzzled to feel something metal pressed against his palm.

“I know Raphael’s already placed you under his protection, but now you have mine as well.” Raguel’s eyes turned fierce and dark. “None will do you harm so long as you reside in Heaven.” She rose slowly. “You’re welcome at my keep anytime. Get Raphael to let you go visiting. We’ll speak again before the trial.” She vanished out the door.

*****

“What is it?” Crowley asked as he sat on a bench in the workroom, studying the object Raguel had left behind.

It was a pin. Nothing fancy – a round disk the size of a pound coin. On one side was a raised image of a scale. He could feel the angelic power radiating off it – not in a way which felt harmful. Just very apparent. 

“It’s Raguel’s sigil. It means if someone bothers you, they’ll answer to her. It also makes her answerable for your conduct.” Raphael didn’t look up from measuring herbs and powders into an assortment of dishes.

“She’s claiming me?”

“A little.” Raphael plucked a feather and stirred it over one concoction. “Wear it on your jacket when you fly, and it’ll give you some protection. Or don’t if it makes you feel uncomfortable.”

Crowley shoved it into his pocket. The pin and its implications made him feel strange in ways he couldn’t quite define. Not… frightened exactly. But not completely thrilled either. “She said I already had your protection.”

Raphael huffed a soft laugh. “Yes… I made it amply clear to Raguel that she wasn’t going anywhere near you until you were willing to talk.”

“You never gave me a pin.”

Raphael reached into his pocket and tossed a disk to Crowley. “I didn’t want to give you that until you understood it didn’t mean I was taking ownership of you. And you haven’t been flying far enough yet for me to suggest it.”

Crowley turned it over.

The sigil was a serpent wrapped around a pole.

“Really?” he asked with an accusatory look.

Raphael shrugged innocently. “It’s the humans who come up with these things, not me.”

Crowley studied it for another moment. “Do all angels have one of these?”

“Just the Archangels.”

Crowley slid it into his pocket beside Raguel’s. “What’s Gabriel’s?”

Raphael spooned one of the powder mixes into a paper packet and folded it once. “A scroll.” He handed it to Crowley.

Crowley took the packet, sealed it, labeled it, and filed it among the other finished concoctions. “I wonder why he didn’t brand that into me.”

“That would have had an entirely different meaning than what he was trying to do.” 

Crowley looked up. “Trying to do?”

“Yes…” Raphael eyed him critically. “Are you ready for your next revelation?”

Crowley sighed. “How many more do I have to sit through?”

“Unfortunately, you’re not nearly caught up yet.” Raphael looked down at his work. “Let’s finish up first. Then I’ll show you.”

An hour later, they sat in the now-cleaned workroom. Crowley fiddled with the sigils while he watched Raphael draw.

“This is just for example’s sake. Please don’t interpret anything into the names I’ve used,” Raphael mumbled as he worked. “I would have just shown you in the book I found it in… but that librarian…”

Crowley grinned.

“What this is… properly… is an ancient tradition. Pre-Fall even. I doubt it’s seen any use since then.” He paused to glance at Crowley. “How are your memories from back then?”

“Spotty,” the demon admitted. “We didn’t remember a whole lot afterwards.”

Raphael nodded. “Well, then… The truth is Heaven changed dramatically after the Rebellion. Some of it was for practical reasons – a reshuffling of everyone’s duties to handle losing a third of the host. And for defense. There was a very different ‘us versus them’ mentality from that point onward. No offense meant.”

Crowley shrugged. “We were building walls, too.”

“I’d say that was when Heaven learned to be suspicious. Despite the fact that no one ever Fell after the Rebellion, the unease never left.” He sighed. “We lost much of what brought us joy. The fear that there might be another rebellion, or an invasion, has permeated every corner of Heaven.”

Crowley hunched down, feeling the shame of more sins on his shoulders.

“That’s not your fault,” Raphael said, recognizing the demon’s disquiet. “It’s no one’s but our own. We chose to let fear destroy what we once had. We chose to sacrifice what we cared about to distrust. I’m not excusing Gabriel’s actions, but I will say he’s a symptom of a much larger problem. Heaven needs to return to what once brought us peace and joy if we never want a repeat of what happened.”

Crowley took a breath, forcing himself to not feel guilty.

Raphael went on. “The tradition… I suppose ritual would be the better word… had nothing to do with what Gabriel tried to do. He also failed – let me make that abundantly clear.”

“Felt like success,” Crowley mumbled.

“If it had worked, he wouldn’t have had to use holy water.” Raphael pushed the paper over so Crowley could look.

Raphael had written his own name and Raguel’s, intertwined together with neither overshadowing the other. Woven with them was an Enochian word which roughly translated as ‘spouse’. 

Crowley blinked, his insides churning. “He was trying to _marry_ me?”

“Not at all, although that wouldn’t have worked either. This is an equal joining between two partners. If done correctly, they would swear to become one flesh, one mind. Joining in perfect harmony. They’d consummate their relationship, and, if both parties entered willingly and fully into the relationship, the mark would appear. A sign of **Her** approval and blessing. From then on, they’d be connected together emotionally and spiritually.”

Crowley stared, feeling sick as he remembered Gabriel’s hands so unwelcomely bringing him to a state of arousal. The words he’d echoed surrendering his body to Gabriel’s control. He pushed away from the table, pacing and breathing heavily.

“It was never meant for slavery. It was meant as a willing, equal joining,” Raphael went on. “Gabriel tried to make it a one-way bond – sealing you to him without giving away any of himself in the process. That **She** did not recognize the bond should have been a clue to him that he was very much on the wrong path. But, instead of reconsidering his actions, he resorted to holy water and lies.”

“It was a lie,” Crowley mumbled, needing the reassurance, needing it to be true. “The emotions. The bond. It was just a scar.” He turned to Raphael, his eyes pleading. “It won’t show up on another body? He won’t be able to find me?”

“It was just a scar,” Raphael repeated. “It never bound you. It never controlled you. It’s long gone. He’ll never touch you again.”

Crowley closed his eyes. His hand strayed to his back, rubbing the unblemished skin. “How long before I believe that for real?” he asked a little desperately.

Raphael rose and hugged him. “As long as it takes.”


	24. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory warning: It's a Gabriel flashback, so of course there's rape.

_Six weeks._

_Six weeks and no sign of Crowley._

_Aziraphale had tried countless spells. He’d scoured increasingly obscure texts for any idea of how to ascertain if Crowley was alive and how to locate him._

_Maybe… another planet? Crowley had mentioned the stars in passing. Maybe Hell had sent him on an assignment far away from Earth? Something so secretive that they’d put out a rumor that Crowley was missing?_

_The idea sounded hollow even in his own mind._

_It was after six weeks had passed that he decided to make sure Crowley’s flat was paid up and to move the car somewhere safer than the curb outside the building._

_If Heaven wanted to know why he was in a demon’s flat, he could say he was checking up on why his adversary had been quiet lately._

_Hopefully they wouldn’t ask why he knew where his adversary lived._

_A flutter of desperate hope entered his chest as he neared the building. Maybe Crowley would be waiting for him. Laughing at his anxiety. Scolding him for making it so hard for him to finish his latest assignment while trying to prevent Aziraphale from summoning him. Yes… maybe Crowley had a way to prevent summoning?_

_Hope died at the sight of the dusty flat, no different than it had been before. Aziraphale knew he should just grab the car keys and leave, but he lingered, strolling from room-to-room in mourning for the missing._

_That was when he remembered the plants._

_He ran at once to their room, his heart rushing to his throat and his stomach sinking as he beheld Crowley’s collection – dry, withered, and dead._

_“No-no-no-no-no!” he moaned, rushing from pot to pot._

_This seemed like a terrible omen._

_He quested out for any sign of life, hopelessness weighing on him._

_But then – impossibly – a sad little quivering answer._

_He pushed aside dead leaves in pursuit of a frail flash of green._

_In the pot of a much larger plant, practically buried in dead foliage, was a tiny aloe plant._

_Crowley might not have even known it was there. Just a little seedling which had somehow fallen in with a larger, very different specimen and managed to take root. But unlike the tropical, water-loving plants of the rest of the collection, the succulent had endured the weeks of neglect._

_Barely._

_Aziraphale poured healing and an entire glass of water onto the plant. It perked up weakly, straining toward him as if he was sunlight._

_“You’ll come with me, of course,” Aziraphale whispered hoarsely. “You’re safe now. I’ll look after you.”_

_One. One tiny piece of Crowley still remained._

_Aziraphale swore to nurture that sliver of hope._

_And find his friend._

_He was occupied with trying to clear away the dead plant without harming the aloe when he heard a crash from the living room. A rush of hope, followed by a surge of panic, filled him. He automatically planted himself between the door and the aloe._

_“Oh, liiiiittle serrrpent…” sang a voice not at all meant for cooing. “Did you finally come back? You know the dark council wants some words with you.” A pause, and the voice’s cheerful malice vanished into annoyance. “Where are you, you fu-” The voice broke off as the speaker reached the plant room._

_Aziraphale stared wide-eyed at the brutish demon._

_The demon looked stunned for a minute, then his expression turned hungry. “So, Crowley’s little playmate all alone?” He took a step closer. “Where’re you hiding him, angel?”_

_Aziraphale stood his ground. “Where is he?”_

_“You don’t know either?” The demon’s grin widened. “He ran out on all of us?”_

_Aziraphale took a step closer. “Where is he?!” he demanded in a fiercer tone. “He’s not on Earth and he’s not in Hell. What are you doing here, and what have you done with him?”_

_“What? Do you actually care about him?” The demon laughed cruelly. “Here I figured you were just banging him for information.” He sidled to the left, forcing Aziraphale to turn with him. “Wonder what it’s like to have an angel beneath you,” he mused. “Does he make you beg?” He moved closer. “Want me to make you beg?”_

_Aziraphale’s wings flared out the moment his fist connected with the demon’s face. Red haze filled his vision as he swung again and again, his fists striking with rapid efficiency as the demon went from very crude to very scared in seconds._

_Aziraphale hedged him into a corner. “Why are you here?” he demanded._

_“Cuz the council wants to know where Crowley slithered off to,” the demon panted, looking desperately for escape. “I’m s’posed to be hunting him up.”_

_“He’s not on Earth. And if he’s not in Hell, where else could he be?”_

_The demon stared at him for a second, then barked with laughter. “If he ain’t here or there,” he said, “you’d better start looking Up.”_

_Aziraphale recoiled. “They wouldn’t.”_

 _The demon snorted. “Like your lot’s as high and mighty as they think they are.” He used Aziraphale’s momentary distraction to dash for the door. “Good luck telling your bosses about your_ boyfriend _,” he cackled as he bolted._

_Alone, Aziraphale pulled himself together and collected the aloe plant. He found the Bentley’s keys and talked the car into driving him back to the bookshop._

_Once there, he concentrated on tending to the plant with shaking hands._

_It wasn’t possible, was it? Heaven wouldn’t…_

_At least… Crowley was probably safe. They’d just hold him. Demand answers which his wily serpent wouldn’t give. Anything more would be a crime against Hell. Unless Crowley made them angry. He did have such a terrible habit of running his mouth…_

_Strange they’d held him so long without contacting Aziraphale or Hell. Maybe Crowley was stringing them along? Preventing them from reaching out to Hell with hints that he would cooperate? Or maybe he WAS cooperating. Maybe he’d agreed to turn against Hell. He and Aziraphale might be allowed to stay together._

_He told himself half-believed assurances for a few days, but the worries soon overrode his attempt at calm. Why hadn’t Heaven contacted him at all? He hadn’t heard from anyone since the day Crowley vanished. Maybe Crowley did need help. Or maybe he wasn’t in Heaven. But there was a way to check…_

_The spell to summon a demon from Hell was easily modified. He doubted anyone had ever tried it for this purpose, but in concept it would work the same. He drew the circle, lit the candles, and began the chant._

Crowley, _he whispered silently._ Please let this bring you home.

*****

_Gabriel was having a pleasant day at work. No one had barged in to irritate him. He’d finished a monumental assignment and looked ahead to quieter demands. Michael hadn’t pestered him at all._

_His peaceful mood was why he didn’t react with immediate fury when he heard his slave gasp and drop a file._

_Gabriel turned in his chair._

_Crowley had broken off working. His hands were braced against the ground. His head jerked in an unsteady fashion. Spasms ran down his body as he made small noises of confusion._

_Gabriel snapped his fingers, halting time around them._

_At the sound, Crowley went completely rigid._

 _Gabriel studied the demon for a moment, a suspicion growing in his mind. “Did someone just try to…_ summon _you?” he asked warily. It had been a very long time since he’d witnessed such a thing. But angels could get pulled into summoning circles the same as demons. He’d seen a few struggling against the first whisper of compulsion._

_Crowley flattened himself to the ground. “I think so, Master,” he whispered._

_Aziraphale! Gabriel’s mind went at once to the fluffy angel and his shop full of books. Was he just shooting in the dark, or did he suspect that his pet demon was in Heaven? It would require exploring._

_But first, Gabriel had something closer to home to deal with._

 _He laughed coldly. “So, Hell finally noticed you were gone. Took them long enough.” Another snap of his fingers eliminated Crowley’s clothes. He reached down and pressed his hand over the brand on the demon’s back. “They must not have heard,_ you’re mine, Sweetheart _.”_

_He sent out a pulse of ownership and smothering jealousy, smiling as Crowley cowered, submissive and scared, beneath the onslaught._

_“They don’t get to take you away. You don’t leave my side unless I wish it.” He watched his cringing slave for a moment. “Maybe you were hoping it would work.”_

_Crowley made a small noise of protest, then remembered himself. He crawled cautiously around to face Gabriel and flattened his head against the Archangel’s shoe._

_“There’s a good boy,” Gabriel murmured in approval, feeling a surge of possessive affection for his trembling little slave. “Are you going to show me how good you can be?”_

_Crowley nodded rapidly – a gesture part desperation and part true eagerness to give Gabriel anything he wanted. “Yes, Master. What would you like me to do?”_

_“Sit up. Eyes closed.” Gabriel tied the blindfold around the demon’s eyes._

_He still enjoyed this game – parading his slave all over Heaven while the rest of Heaven’s denizens stood frozen and staring around them. He’d raped Crowley on Michael’s office floor, and in the council chambers, and in the midst of a march of guards. He liked the power of it – being able to do absolutely anything he pleased._

_It wouldn’t do for Crowley to know time was halted – not yet. He was saving that bombshell for if his slave ever needed to have any last hopes destroyed. Sometimes he’d transport Crowley a short distance before ordering him walk, letting the slave assume they were in empty halls._

_He did that now, walking lazily behind and calling out orders as Crowley walked – the demon not taking a single step without Gabriel’s permission. Crowley kept his arms crossed behind his back without need of restraints. He knew better. He would walk into walls without any attempt to catch himself if Gabriel ordered. He had on multiple occasions._

_Gabriel was feeling aroused and possessive by the time they reached Crowley’s room. He took him on the bed, setting a ferocious pace and clawing viciously at the demon’s wings all the while. His. All his. If that damned Aziraphale thought for one second…_

_Crowley lay gasping and bleeding beneath him when Gabriel finished._

_“Go clean yourself up,” Gabriel murmured, pulling off the blindfold and giving Crowley a little shove toward the edge of the bed._

_Crowley slid to the floor and retreated to the sink, glancing back with open confusion he didn’t dare express._

_Gabriel stretched and settled comfortably. This really was a very nice bed. And so pleasurable to lounge in possession of his slave’s little hideaway._

_Crowley wet a towel and dabbed at the blood between his legs._

_“Actually,” Gabriel said abruptly, making Crowley flinch. “Let me do that for you. Come back here.”_

_Unbidden, Crowley went to his hands and knees and crawled his way back to the bed._

_Gabriel pushed Crowley face down and took the towel from him. He lay on his side, one leg nudged between the demon’s knees. He dabbed at the blood, working gently and slowly. “Does this feel nice, Sweetheart?”_

_“Y-yes, Master. Thank you.” Crowley whimpered into a pillow._

_Gabriel worked his way up the slave’s back, sweeping away the demon’s sweat and admiring the bruises he’d left behind. He liked the deep pattern of layer upon layer of bruising. The colors changed in such interesting ways._

_He held the towel over a bite mark, rubbing his thumb in small circles beside the imprint._

_Crowley made a small and desperate noise. His body leaned a little toward Gabriel, and the Archangel heard a small sniffle._

_“You won’t ever leave me, will you, Crowley?”_

_“No, Master,” the demon breathed._

_“You’ll always be right where you belong. With me. My slave. Mine.”_

_“Yours, Master,” Crowley agreed earnestly._

_Gabriel put his lips to the back of the demon’s neck. It started as a kiss, but he sunk in his teeth, biting deep and holding on as blood trickled into his mouth. He tossed the towel over Crowley’s neck. “You can clean that one up yourself.”_

_He left in a rush, unreasonable anger surging through him._

_Aziraphale. Aziraphale had tried to take what was his._

_He needed to deal with the principality soon…_

_But this had stirred another uneasy thought._

_What if Hell tried the same trick?_

_A summoning spell like that would have had to be targeted. To both know the demon’s name and location. It had to have been Aziraphale, not Hell, which attempted it. But how long had it been? Nearly seven weeks? Hell would have noticed Crowley’s absence by now. If they realized he was in Heaven…_

_Gabriel suspected Hell would initially go through proper channels to have the demon released. Crowley wasn’t important enough, or in possession of valuable enough information, for them to mount a rescue mission. That was part of why he’d been selected – a demon with a history of going off the radar for long stretches. With free access to Earth and Hell. Expected to come and go on his own hours. He’d been the perfect target…_

_…and there was no chance Gabriel would ever let him go._

 _He’d made that decision some time back, even as he’d continued to train Crowley for_ Project Trojan _, even as he’d assured Michael everything was right on schedule. Crowley would never leave Gabriel’s feet._

_Gabriel had every confidence that, even released from his collar and put to work, Crowley would remain obedient and surrender to whatever Gabriel did. But there would be long stretches of Crowley in the field. And no doubt Crowley would be eager to go deep into Hell in search of information if it delayed his return to Heaven._

_And what if Crowley was found out? Imprisoned? Killed?_

_Gabriel couldn’t take that risk._

_He’d been considering setting up another test for Michael’s benefit. Something he could arrange for Crowley to fail. The problem was he needed exactly the right amount of failure. Something to prove Crowley was unsuited for the project, but fine to remain Gabriel’s personal property. He couldn’t have anything which would indicate the demon was volatile or needed more training. Just that Michael needed to kidnap her own test subject and leave Gabriel’s toy alone._

_But that was a problem for another day. Right now, he needed to cope with the very real possibility of losing his slave to a summons._

_He went to the library, sneering at the librarian as he breezed into the restricted sections. He piled himself with volumes on demonology and summoning rituals._

_Nothing useful came to his attention. No counter-spell, no talisman. Summoning seemed a problem no one had successfully solved._

_He roamed at random – never a particularly dedicated researcher. But he had plenty of information at his disposal. There had to be_ something.

_The closest he could find were shackles from the days of King Solomon which had bound the demon princes to building the temple, which other demons had seemingly been unable to remove. If it bound them to a location and body, it must have halted summoning._

_Perhaps he could arrange to have the collar modified for that purpose at some point._

_For now, he needed to deal with the problem of an in-progress summoning which would begin again as soon as he restarted time. The best solution seemed to be the shackles._

_He spent quite a while hunting through the armories and stashes of celestial objects. The damned things had to be around here_ somewhere.

_Even with infinite time, he was feeling entirely impatient by the time he located the anklet._

_Crowley was waiting on his knees when Gabriel entered the cell. Gabriel circled him, not looking at posture so much as the scabbed-over bitemarks. Leaving open wounds on the demon had become his method of guessing the passage of time. His own ability had become entirely warped._

_He brought out the anklet. Crowley chained himself to the bedpost without hesitation. Only one shackle seemed asymmetrical, Gabriel thought. He created more bindings to chain the demon’s other extremities. The sight of the spread-out and vulnerable slave was too tempting. It wasn’t like he was on a time crunch…_

_“I’m sure to be in a bad mood when I return,” Gabriel remarked conversationally afterwards, one foot braced against the demon’s bloodied wing as he straightened the laces on his shoe. “You’re going to wait just like this – ready to improve my mood.”_

_He kissed the back of Crowley’s neck. “Get some rest, Sweetheart. You’ll need it.”_

_With those ominous words, he headed for Earth._

_The bookshop was locked, but it opened at a snap of his fingers. Inside…_

_Gabriel grinned broadly. Aziraphale… So predictable._

_He circled around the summoning setup, squatting down to study the angel’s anxious expression._

_“Impressive work,” he murmured. “But are you really thinking this through? What would you have done if you’d stolen him from Heaven?”_

_He circled a second time. It might be amusing to let Aziraphale succeed. Give him a few days with his broken toy to see what he’d do. But, no. It wouldn’t do for someone else to touch Gabriel’s property._

_Gabriel went outside, restarted time, and sauntered back into the shop._

_Aziraphale was so focused that he didn’t notice the Archangel approaching._

_“Demon-summoning, Aziraphale?” Gabriel asked when he was right behind the principality._

_The angel whirled. “G-Gabriel!” he stammered. “I wasn’t expecting…”_

_Gabriel stepped past him and studied the circle. “This seems a curious way to combat the enemy.”_

_Aziraphale took several deep breaths, then spoke in a rush. “It’s my adversary, Sir. He’s been silent for weeks. I w-worried he was planning something huge. I… I thought forcing him here might be the best way to thwart him.”_

_“Fascinating,” Gabriel purred. “Trapping him where he’ll be easily destroyed.” He stepped back. “Don’t let me stop you.”_

_The color drained from Aziraphale’s face. “What?”_

_Gabriel gestured at the circle. “Summoning and destroying your rival.” He looked around. “What were you planning to use to slaughter him? I don’t see any holy water. Pity you don’t still have that flaming sword.”_

_Aziraphale stammered for a moment. “I… I wasn’t planning on killing. I just wanted to know what he was up to.”_

_“Nonsense, Aziraphale. What better opportunity to rid yourself of a rival than a moment like this?”_

_Aziraphale swallowed hard. “Yes. But he’s been my adversary for years. I’m quite good at thwarting him. I… I wouldn’t want Hell replacing him with someone… more nefarious.” He took a breath and rushed on. “Crowley is quite wily and keeps me on my toes, but he’s not particularly competent. I always thought it was better to leave him in place than risk a replacement.”_

_“I suppose,” Gabriel mused. “Well, shall we see what he’s up to?”_

_Aziraphale clearly didn’t want to continue. He struggled a moment, then crouched at the edge of the circle and returned to the ritual._

_Gabriel stood over him, drinking in the sight of Aziraphale at his feet. Wouldn’t that be entertaining? String up the traitor and see how long it took him to break? What would it take to get Crowley to participate? That might finally crush that last bit of love inside the demon’s stubborn heart. If Gabriel could get Aziraphale to renounce Crowley to spare himself pain. The look on Crowley’s face…_

_He was so caught up in his dreams that he nearly missed Aziraphale deliberately mispronouncing the demon’s name. He smiled, deciding against pointing out the error. Better to have Aziraphale deliberately fail now. He could keep Crowley chained up for a few days to ensure any further attempts would truly fail._

_Aziraphale eventually gave Gabriel an apologetic look. “I don’t think this is working.”_

_“I think it’s your parameters,” Gabriel remarked. “I’m no expert, but it seems you’re trying to call the demon from anywhere – Heaven or Hell.” He smiled patronizingly at Aziraphale. “Why would there be a demon in Heaven?”_

_“Oh… I…. I hadn’t thought of that.” Aziraphale stared at the ground._

_Gabriel sighed and rested a heavy hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I know your heart is in the right place. But I think this sort of attempt should be left alone. If the demon isn’t on Earth, he probably deserves to be wherever he is. Best not dabble in this sort of thing.”_

_“Yes. I quite understand.” Aziraphale looked up at him, his brow furrowed. “Perhaps I’m being overly paranoid.”_

_“I don’t know about that. Keeping a close eye on the demons is necessary. And part of your job, after all. But not too close an eye. You wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”_

_To his credit, Aziraphale didn’t flinch._

_Gabriel talked a little while longer, gently prompting Aziraphale to spend more time doing his actual job than worrying about his counterpart. With a final word of encouragement, he departed._

_He didn’t go far – just around the corner. He waited ten minutes, stopped time, and went back to the shop._

_And there was Aziraphale, beginning the ritual again._

_“One more thing, Aziraphale…” Gabriel called as he pushed open the shop door, starting time as he did._

_Amazing how fast the principality could vanish candles and a summoning book._

_Gabriel reminded Aziraphale of paperwork he needed to fill out and departed once more._

_He halted time until well after he’d returned to Heaven. Best to keep that trip off the books._

_Soon he was back at his desk, his very confused slave chained by the ankle to the iron ring embedded in the floor._

_Aziraphale probably wouldn’t try that again. He wasn’t that foolish. But he’d need to be watched. If he was getting suspicious…_

*****

_In a bookshop in Soho, an angel mournfully cleaned up the summoning ritual. He glanced fretfully at the door as he worked._

_Had that been bad timing? Or was he being watched? Gabriel couldn’t possibly…_

_Something caught his eye and he froze._

_Stuck to the ground with a bit of blood, right where Gabriel had been standing, was a small, black feather._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Did I do one bit of historical research and [use it for two stories?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935850/chapters/51649747) Maybe...  
> Obviously, these are two different universes. History didn't play out at all like that here.


	25. Art and Comics

Hi friends. I think after that last chapter, we could all use an art break. And I've been meaning to post some of this for WEEKS. I finally finished the comics up. They're not the best drawn things ever, but I'm still enjoying the silliness and the practice. Alright, here's your art interlude for the week.

**Archangel Sigils**

Here's a little something I started playing with after the recent chapter. Probably no one but me _needed_ to know what the Archangel sigils looked like, but here they are anyway.

I imagine these changed over time - originally maybe just the sign for the their name. But as humans defined particular jobs with certain symbols, the Archangels changed their signs accordingly. Or maybe human imagination affected them in some way. Fun to think about.

Anyway, they're all fairly obvious. Gabriel the messenger has a scroll. Michael the warrior is represented with a sword. Raguel has the scales as a sign of justice. Raphael has the Rod of Asclepius, which has been a medical symbol since the Greeks. Uriel doesn't really have a job description, but she's associated with the sun, so I gave her that.

* * *

**Fan Art**

**Raphael, Crowley & Raguel**  
By: **Ll**  
Some heromachine renditions of the main cast. I LOVE how they look. And we get to see that balcony which Crowley has become so fond of talking upon. Love the work! Thanks so much.

* * *

**Comics**

**Adventures of Snake!Crowley and Reluctant!Gabriel**

**Chapter 5: Karaoke!**

**Songs:** [Hurts So Good](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dOsbsuhYGQ) by John Mellencamp  
[SexyBack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gOHvDP_vCs) by Justin Timberlake  
I regret nothing.

**Chapter 6: I Breathe with My Tongue**

**Chapter 7: Should Have Set a Stronger Password**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming posting notice: I'm going to be without easy internet access for the next week. Friday and Monday's updates will happen, but they'll probably drop at weird times. If I fall behind on answer comments, please know I LOVE all the support and will absolutely read them all and make my way through them as soon as I can. Thanks guys!


	26. Chapter 23

They made the journey to the city in a single flight. 

Crowley had been doing well lately. He’d gone with Raphael to visit some of the Archangel’s other farms and workstations. It took a lot out of Crowley to remember he could walk beside Raphael, not cowering on his heels; and to remember that raised voices didn’t mean he needed to huddle on his knees. Still, he tried to practice brief eye contact and speak to strangers without fear of reprimand. 

They’d visited Raguel in her home one day when she’d asked for more information. Crowley found it was hard to be quite as intimidated by the justice of Heaven when she sat at her desk, asking serious questions, while one of her pet lions stood with its paws on Raguel’s shoulders, relentlessly grooming her hair. 

It was easier to be brave with Raphael backing him. Perhaps that was why the Archangel had begun looking for excuses to send Crowley alone on errands to the neighboring homes. The neighbors were politely curious, and Crowley gained a little confidence with each successful interaction.

He’d been doing so well, he’d half thought he was past the worst of his issues. But the night before his nightmares had driven him to screams, and he’d awoken in a panic, certain he’d be punished for the noise. It had been hours before he’d been able to rise from his knees, and he’d still been a trembling mess well into the day.

The result was they’d been delayed leaving on their intended trip by half a day. Crowley felt immensely guilty, even if Raphael insisted he shouldn’t.

Crowley wondered if Raphael had pushed for a flight without rest stops to exhaust him. Whether or not that was the intended outcome, Crowley passed out as soon as he reached Raphael’s room and slept mercifully without nightmares.

When he awoke, Raphael was absent. Crowley paced the room. Surely, he’d recovered enough to leave the room alone, hadn’t he?

With several steadying breaths, he set off for the hospital.

Angels looked curiously as he passed, but with his wings tucked in and his eyes shielded, he supposed they were more confused by him than certain of his nature. Although the clothes might have raised suspicions. Raphael and Raguel’s sigils lay in his pocket. He wasn’t eager to put them on, but he felt safer having them close at hand.

The receptionist at the hospital studied him cautiously, then let him in. 

The old warrior had no such caution. “There’s the demon!” he called joyfully as Crowley approached. “Get over here! You’re the only good conversationalist I ever get.”

Crowley grinned and sat beside Adabiel as the angel rambled about his glory days, Earth, Rugziel, and how boring the hospital was.

“I have an adversary too,” Crowley said cautiously after a while. “His name’s Aziraphale.”

He was wary, but it didn’t take long for the eager and bored warrior to draw out the story. If anyone understood the affection a demon and angel might find after 6,000 years in each other’s company, Crowley thought this was the angel.

“So, you gave up on fighting…” the warrior mused. He shook his head. “I don’t see what other joys you found, but Earth does have its amusements.” 

They talked a great deal about people, agreeing that humanity didn’t need much help in either direction for good or ill. Crowley suspected Adabiel had only gone through the motions of having an adversary for a good chunk of history. The angel eventually lowered his voice and admitted that he and Rugziel hadn’t seriously tried to kill one another for at least a thousand years.

“I wish I’d said goodbye,” he murmured wistfully. Then, with more force: “And made sure she’d never forget which one of us was the stronger!” 

Raphael appeared eventually. “I thought I’d find you here,” he said with a smile.

Adabiel grabbed Crowley’s arm and pointed a suspicious finger at Raphael. “Is he treating you alright?” he demanded.

Crowley ducked his head with a grin. “He’s helping me get better, yes.”

“If he ever gives you a hard time, you come to me.” He turned a fierce glare on Raphael. “No taking advantage of his kindness, Archangel. You be good to him.”

“I like him too much to ever consider otherwise,” Raphael replied seriously.

Crowley said goodbye and departed with Raphael.

“Were you making sure I wasn’t causing trouble?” he asked.

Raphael smiled quietly. “I trust you. But I worry about you. Please tolerate some restrained hovering as you become strong enough to roam.”

Crowley contemplated this. He didn’t like being treated like fine glass… but he also couldn’t deny that was how he felt most days.

*****

Aziraphale wished they’d give him a book more often. The library assistant would come by every three or four days (he thought they were days) and he’d usually have read whatever he’d been lucky enough to get several times by then.

It was maddening. Sitting in a small cell day after day. No change of location unless Raguel wanted to question him. His other visitors had been few and brief. 

It would have been nice if they’d _tell_ him anything. He’d been given to understand Crowley was alive. That he was recovering from whatever Gabriel had done to him. He had no way of knowing if he’d been told the truth.

The door opened, and Aziraphale looked up. “Hello, Raphael,” he said slowly, not entirely at ease with the other Archangel who sometimes visited. 

Raphael smiled amiably. “How are you feeling today?” He stayed in the open doorway.

“Oh, I’ve finished counting all the stones on the walls for the eightieth time. And I believe I’ve managed to recite Shakespeare’s complete works from memory. Except some of the sonnets.”

Raphael’s head was turned away, looking at something outside the cell. “Maybe we can find you a copy.”

“I hope so.” Aziraphale looked down at the book in his manacled hands. “I am grateful the library’s allowed me a few volumes, but…”

“Hey, Angel.”

Aziraphale lunged to his feet, sure he’d imagined the soft voice.

Raphael was gone. Crowley stood in the doorway, his eyes trained on the ground. His body quivered, half recoiled as if prepared to flee.

Aziraphale found his voice. “My dear.” He wasn’t sure the words were even coherent around the lump in his throat. Waves of love and relief pulsed out of him toward the demon.

Crowley’s head came up – shock, fear, confusion, and, finally, hope, rushing across his face. He took a tentative step closer. 

Aziraphale surged forward as far as the chains allowed. “My dear, my dear,” he crooned.

And then Crowley’s arms were around him, pushing him back against the wall where the chains didn’t matter. And he was holding his demon, his love, his everything as if they’d never be parted again.

  


* * *

  


_Aziraphale was at a loss._

_He stared helplessly at the feather, trembling at the implications, denying the implications._

_Crowley was in Heaven. If he wasn’t dead, that was the only logical place he could be._

_But he had to be fine, didn’t he? It was_ Heaven _. No one there would…?_

_Certainly, Crowley was good at irritating people. Maybe… maybe he was just being difficult? There had to be a good reason for Gabriel to have a feather stuck to his shoe._

_A safe reason._

_A reason that didn’t imply Crowley was bleeding somewhere. With injured wings._

_Aziraphale tried to fabricate a positive narrative. That Crowley had turned against Hell and was giving Heaven information – voluntarily. The blood was just… accidental. Or Crowley had been wounded and taken to Heaven for assistance… although why he’d have been missing for seven weeks…_

_The truth stared him in the face, much as he tried to deny it. Someone must have found out about their relationship. That was the most logical scenario. But if that was the case, why wasn’t_ he _being questioned? And why hadn’t Crowley been turned over to Hell?_

_Something else was going on…_

_And Gabriel knew._

_Summoning seemed out of the question. It was too convenient that Gabriel had materialized TWICE when Aziraphale had attempted it. Somehow, Gabriel had known what he was up to and prevented it – personally._

_He tried to be analytical. Crowley was in Heaven. Crowley did not belong in Heaven. Aziraphale needed to rescue him. Ideally without their relationship coming to light._

_But… how?_

_He couldn’t exactly march in and ask for the demon to be released._

_Maybe someone from Hell could?_

_Going back to Crowley’s flat was a longshot, but he didn’t know what else to do._

_He watched the building for two days before he saw a familiar figure slip inside. He pursued._

_The demon had just opened the door to Crowley’s flat when Aziraphale came up behind him._

_“Heaven has Crowley,” he announced without preamble._

_The demon whirled, coming down in a show of bristling fangs. “What’s the big idea?!”_

_“Heaven’s taken Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated. “How can we get him back?”_

_“We?” The demon scoffed. “He can rot for all I care.”_

_“I thought you were looking for him.”_

_“Yeah, but it’s not like I care if I find him dead or alive.”_

_“But Hell would care if Heaven’s abducting their own, wouldn’t they?”_

_The demon considered and nodded reluctantly. “It’s technically an act of war. But nobody’s gonna shed enough tears over the serpent to go that far.”_

_Aziraphale bit down his anger. “It would still be in their best interest to get him back, wouldn’t it? Especially if there were indications Heaven was… hurting him.”_

_The demon’s eyebrows jumped. “Basting him in holy water? Roasting him over celestial flames?”_

_Aziraphale paled. He hadn’t considered…_

_“You prove they’re torturing one of our own, the big guys would have some words.” The demon sized him up. “Or… I could just take you down and we’ll return the favor.”_

_Aziraphale glared contemptuously until the demon deflated, muttering darkly to himself._

_“If I could get you proof,” Aziraphale said slowly, “could you help him?”_

_The demon snorted. “You want us to ask nicely for them to give him back? How’s that going to go?”_

_Aziraphale had to admit, probably not well. He paced anxiously. “There must be something we can do.”_

_“Get a new sex toy,” the demon snorted. “Better worry about yourself. If they grabbed him, you’re next.”_

_“They haven’t told me anything.” Aziraphale halted, wide-eyed and worried. “I don’t understand. What could they be doing to him?”_

_The demon shrugged. “Angels. Sadists like the rest of us.”_

_“That isn’t true!”_

_The demon rolled his eyes. “I’ve met plenty of smite-happy feather-brains on your side. You really don’t think some of them could have fun with a demon in Heavenly lock-up? They might not be all that_ good _at torture, but they’d probably figure it out if there was something they wanted to know.”_

_Aziraphale’s hands clenched into fists. “Crowley…” he whispered in agony._

_“Not like he knows a whole lot,” the demon went on. “Probably just has to sell you out and they’ll stop whatever they’re doing.”_

_“He’d never!”_

_The shout was too much for the edgy demon. He dove past Aziraphale and out the door._

*****

_The relentless pounding on the bookshop door finally drove Aziraphale from the back._

_“His file’s gone,” the demon announced as he rushed past Aziraphale and into the shop. He snapped his fingers, darkening the windows. “Close the door, idiot!” he snarled at Aziraphale._

_“File?” Aziraphale asked blankly as he locked the door._

_“Crowley’s. Checked out of the records office months ago and never returned. All his reports. Missions. Any banging you two were doing. It’s gone.”_

_“You checked the records office?” Aziraphale asked in a daze._

_“I’m supposed to be investigating his disappearance!” the demon snapped. “I do my job. Unlike you wallowing around here chugging… What’s that smell?”_

_“Cocoa.”_

_The demon snorted and shook his head. “Bloody angels…”_

_“Someone looked into him?” Aziraphale’s mind began to whirl. “Passed the information along? Maybe to Heaven?”_

_“Maybe.” The demon’s eyes glowed angrily. “I passed on the news. Our detective’s hunting up the demon who filched the records. See what answers he can get out of them.”_

_“You have a detective?” Aziraphale asked a little stupidly. He was struggling with the news. And that the demon had come to him voluntarily._

_“Of course we have someone to investigate and drag in criminals! We’re not_ animals _.” The demon looked furious and offended._

_“Sorry,” Aziraphale mumbled. “Why are you here?”_

_“To find out what you know. Who do you think took your boyfriend? Why do you think he’s hurt? What’s your proof?”_

_Aziraphale hesitated. He went to his desk, opened a drawer and returned carrying the carefully-wrapped black feather._

_The demon took it from him, eyed it up and down, and tasted the blood. “Demon,” he agreed. “Where’d you get it?”_

_“My superior appeared while I was attempting to summon Crowley from Heaven. He had that stuck to his shoe.”_

_The demon handed the feather back. “Kay. So, who do you report to?”_

_“Gabriel.”_

_The demon went rigid. He whirled and bolted for the door. “Good luck!”_

_“Wait!” Aziraphale surged after him. “I need your help!”_

_“No chance, Feathers. I’m not getting messed up with an_ Archangel _.”_

_“But I can’t rescue him myself!”_

_“Rescue?” The demon looked back incredulously. “No chance of a rescue from Heaven. Not with an Archangel sniffing around.”_

_“Why not?” Aziraphale got between him and the door._

_The demon halted with a sneer. “What’s your plan – a few dozen demons just waltz into Heaven and walk out with him? We’ll be discorporated before we get up the stairs. You want to get him out? You’re on your own.”_

_“But there has to be something we can do.”_

_“There’s no_ we _about this. You play for_ their _team. Plus, I hate the guy. If I get to him, I haul him down for a little question-and-answer session with the dark council which is probably going to be as friendly as whatever he’s dealing with in Heaven.”_

_Aziraphale’s mind raced. “I can get into Heaven. I can learn things. You need me.”_

_“I don’t need anything. My job was just to find Crowley. He’s in Heaven. Found him! All done.”_

_“It would be a lot of credit for you if you found out_ why _Heaven took him,” Aziraphale wheedled. “What if they’re plotting something? What if you’re the one to uncover it? That would be a pretty big commendation for you, wouldn’t it?”_

_The demon hesitated, obviously considering the offer._

_Aziraphale pressed his advantage. “I have an idea. No risk to you. I promise. I just need you to help me have a reason to meet with Gabriel.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys. Dreamsofspike is having a rough time lately with her family's ongoing health issues. Please [take a look at her blog](https://dreamsofspike-blog.tumblr.com/post/611684017190977536/a-request-for-help), and help out if you can. She's taking commissions to help cover medical costs, along with seeking donations. So if you enjoyed her work and you're able to assist, she could use some support.


	27. Chapter 24

Crowley didn’t stay long, and the visit was confusing. Crowley was… not right. A fleeting part of Aziraphale's mind wondered if this wasn’t Crowley – just some sort of trap. But he could feel the emotions pouring off the demon – unguarded and vulnerable. They were definitely Crowley’s – strange as they were.

After the initial embrace, Crowley was wary to be touched. He jumped every time Aziraphale’s shackles clinked. He didn’t make eye contact. His speech was subdued and brief. He ducked all questions of what had happened to him after he’d disappeared. 

He didn’t ask why Aziraphale was in jail. He limited his questions to unsteady queries about what Aziraphale was reading and who’d visited him, hesitating often as if there were things he meant to say but held back. Aziraphale was too stunned to push, busy trying to understand why Crowley seemed so very off.

Too soon, Crowley rose, trembling violently. He retreated to the door and hovered there. It took him several tries to speak. “Do… d-do you want me to come again?”

Aziraphale was speechless. _How can you say that? Do you know how long I’ve been trying to find you? What I’ve gone through for your sake? Why are you so different?_ But the questions died at the sight of Crowley’s eyes lifted at last from the ground. So fearful and anxious.

The question was genuine. Crowley really didn’t think Aziraphale would want his presence.

What had happened to him?

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed, stepping to the end of his chain. “I want to be with you for as long as you want to be with me.” He closed his eyes and sent out a far more private message. _I love you, Crowley._

The demon reared back, his balance becoming unsteady. He gripped the wall, tears springing to his eyes. He panted hard, his mouth working wordlessly. He bolted from the cell.

*****

Raphael returned to Aziraphale’s cell a few hours later. This time he entered and sat down. “Crowley asked me to explain his condition.” 

“What happened to him?” Aziraphale asked. “I know Gabriel hurt him…”

“That barely encompasses what happened.” Raphael bowed his head. “The first thing you need to understand is time. Gabriel manipulated time. He halted it frequently and extensively. From your perspective Crowley was gone two months. For him, it was closer to two years.”

Aziraphale stomach clenched. “Two years…”

Raphael nodded. “Two years during which he was abused – physically, emotionally, and sexually – nearly continuously.”

Aziraphale’s alarm transformed with a surge of fury. His vision dimmed, overwhelming floods of absolute rage erupting in his mind. He lunged to his feet, pacing helplessly on the short range of his chain. “How dare…?! How could…?!” He fumed and frothed.

Gabriel – his superior who’d always seemed a little intimidating, but not malicious – had abused Crowley. HIS Crowley. The being he loved more than anyone. Gabriel had harmed him to the point that Aziraphale could barely recognize the demon. How could this have been allowed to happen? Gabriel needed to suffer in the ways he’d made sweet, gentle Crowley suffer.

Aziraphale came to himself eventually, uncertain how long he’d been lost to his feelings. He felt a rush of shame to see Raphael sitting calmly, watching whatever he’d been through. 

He sat down hurriedly. “I apologize.”

Raphael didn’t blink. “Your emotions are understandable. What he suffered absolutely warrants outrage.” 

“What’s happening to Gabriel?” Aziraphale demanded.

“At this moment he’s awaiting trial.” Raphael watched him, his eyes mild. “But my concern is far more for the victim.”

Aziraphale shook himself. “Yes. Of course. Tell me about Crowley. Please.”

Raphael nodded. “Crowley’s self-worth was utterly shattered. He was taught everything happening to him was his fault. That he deserved to be treated as filth by every angel he encountered. He was further made to understand that his love for you was wrong because it would have corrupted you and caused your Fall – a state which would have been entirely his fault.”

“It wouldn’t! I made my own choice! I…” Aziraphale forced down his fury. 

Raphael waited a moment. “He was made to understand that you’d be ashamed and reject him for what he’d become. Ultimately, he was taught to deny his relationship with you had ever happened – to forget he’d ever loved. That remembering anything prior to his time with Gabriel was forbidden.”

Aziraphale found his mind nearly blank with the shock and horror of it all. He’d understood Crowley had been harmed. But this was beyond anything he’d imagined. “What happened to him?” he asked hoarsely. “What did Gabriel do to him?”

Raphael’s expression hardened. “That’s Crowley’s story to tell. If he chooses to.”

Aziraphale nodded reluctantly.

“As it stands now,” the healer continued. “Crowley is slowly overcoming his trauma, but it’s a lengthy process. On good days he knows he loves you, but he doesn’t believe you can love what he is now. On bad days, he’s either terrified his interaction with you could have led to your downfall or afraid to even acknowledge your existence.”

“He doesn’t know I love him,” Aziraphale murmured in a daze.

“Again, his self-worth is nearly nonexistent,” Raphael replied. “Even on the days he _can_ understand you loved him at one point, he doesn’t believe it’s possible that you could see any value in him now, or love him if you knew how Gabriel abused him.”

Aziraphale trembled. He could feel his rage building again and struggled to push it down. Destroying Gabriel wasn’t what was important right now. Helping Crowley was. “What can I do?”

“Be calm and patient with him. He wants to see you, but he also believes you’ll reject him. And he believes he deserves that rejection. Try not to get angry at the things he says. Strong emotions easily overwhelm him. A great many things frighten him. Don’t ask about what happened to him. Let him bring that up when he’s ready. He can handle talking about what he’s done since being taken from Gabriel. He also has a fairly good handle on older memories – his first few thousand years on Earth. It’s more recent memories – particularly those pertaining to your growing relationship – that become troubling for him.”

“Should I not have said I loved him?”

“It’s something he’ll need to hear often before he believes it. Just, try not to flood him with feelings.”

“What about physical contact?”

Raphael gave Aziraphale a look of approval. “He wants to be touched. He’s also very shy of it. Keep in mind, he was denied autonomy over his body. He has no understanding of being allowed to say no. Ask permission before you do anything, and watch his reaction more than his words. He won’t resist anything you do to him, so it’s very easy to back him into a situation in which he’s uncomfortable but feels unable to say so.”

Aziraphale felt the tears brimming in his eyes. His fury was confined for now. All he wanted was to wrap his wings around the demon and protect him from the world. “When can I see him again?”

“When he chooses to come. Right now, he’s still extremely confused as to how to process this first reintroduction. Once he gets past that, I think he’ll want to see you again. But it’s his choice.”

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale murmured. “It has to be.”

They talked further. At last Raphael rose to go. He paused. “One thing more. I haven’t told him what you did. I’m not positive how he’d react at this point. And it might be better coming from you.”

Alone, Aziraphale found his mind engaged and alert for the first time in weeks. He sat back, trying to remember any book of trauma he’d ever read. He went over Raphael’s advice time and again.

Despite the pain he’d felt from Crowley, despite his fury at Gabriel, Aziraphale felt his soul glowing with joy. Crowley was alive. Maybe he wasn’t well, but he was improving. And Aziraphale would let him know he was loved. He’d say it a thousand-thousand times until he could feel his love’s belief in return.

*****

Crowley returned to Aziraphale a day or two later. He stayed a longer stretch and left without running away – but it was a near thing.

Aziraphale’s heart bled with every pulse of fear he felt from the demon. He hated Gabriel with new levels of passion, hatred he fought to suppress. His anger wouldn’t do Crowley any favors. For Crowley’s sake, he’d say and do nothing to upset the fragile demon.

But every topic seemed to be a minefield.

Considering Raphael’s advice that the past was a safer subject, he began with their first meeting in the Garden. That seemed alright. Crowley spoke eagerly about the plants. But the moment Aziraphale affectionately called him a ‘wily serpent’ as he had so many times before, Crowley hunched into a defensive ball, waves of shame radiating from him.

Aziraphale didn’t understand, but he didn’t pause to wonder. He just tried a different memory, rambling until Crowley hesitantly responded. This went better until Aziraphale gestured with growing animation, and Crowley recoiled to the other side of the cell.

It hurt. As did the doubt and fear Aziraphale felt every time the angel spoke with affection. And the way Crowley’s eyes locked with alarm on Aziraphale’s hands every time he moved. He wanted to wrap Crowley in his arms and scream his love until the demon believed him, until he’d wiped away whatever Gabriel had done by sheer force of will.

But he held back. He spoke softly. He resisted touching. He sent out steady washes of gentle emotions, trying with feelings to assure Crowley of his unchanging love. He knew too much hurt and confusion flowed through their bond, much as he tried to keep it in check. Still, he worked hard for the overwhelming sense to be love.

The third visit was probably the worst, although Raphael called it progress when he came to collect Crowley after several hours. The demon went immediately to the floor upon entering the cell. He sat against the wall well beyond Aziraphale’s reach. He didn’t engage when Aziraphale tried to get him talking – giving monosyllabic answers and eventually curling up and falling asleep.

“It’s a good thing,” Raphael said gently to the confused angel. “He had a bad morning. But he came here anyway. He’s feeling safe enough around you to fall asleep. I know that doesn’t seem like much, but it’s huge progress.”

And by the fourth, Aziraphale thought he could see progress. Crowley didn’t back out of his reach. He watched Aziraphale’s hands with hawk-like intensity, but he didn’t flinch. He seemed to trust Aziraphale wouldn’t touch him without permission.

And Aziraphale thought he saw glimmers of the old Crowley come out as they talked.

“I love you,” he murmured as Crowley rose to leave, the words he’d ended their talks with each time.

Crowley gripped the doorframe, bowing his head in open struggle. “You shouldn’t,” he whispered. “I’m not worth it. You’ll Fall.”

“I won’t Fall for something pure, and mutual,” Aziraphale replied stoutly. “I’ve loved you a long time, and you’ve loved me even longer. If one of us is undeserving of that love, it’s me.”

Crowley’s eyes went wide with shock.

Aziraphale kept on steadily. “You understood our love was possible long before I did. And from the first you were prepared to sacrifice it for my protection. That’s a love and loyalty I strive every day to match.” He looked up at the demon. “All I want is to be worthy of your love.”

Crowley bridged the distance between them, his hands outstretched. He shied away before touching Aziraphale, pacing anxiously just beyond the reach of Aziraphale’s shackles.

Aziraphale remained sitting, lowering his eyes and trying to look non-threatening. “You can touch me all you’d like, Darling. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.” He shuddered. “But I miss your touch so very much.”

He held carefully still as Crowley rested an exceedingly cautious hand on his knee. The demon withdrew almost at once, then warily returned. After a long moment, Crowley’s hesitant fingers moved to his face and remained there, slowly pressing tighter although Aziraphale could feel the tremors.

Aziraphale lifted his eyes to meet the demon’s wide and fearful gaze. With absolute care, ensuring that Crowley was watching and showed no hesitation, he reached up and cupped Crowley’s face with equal tenderness.

Tears sprang to the demon’s eyes. He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. 

It lasted only a moment before Crowley began to shake.

Immediately Aziraphale drew back.

He felt the wash of relief, longing, and shame from the demon.

“There’s no rush, my dear,” he murmured, sending out quietness and love. “I want you to have exactly what you need. I never want to cause you a second’s fear or hurt. Just tell me whatever you need. Or show me if you can’t say it. If you need to go, go. I’ll understand.”

Crowley had stepped out of reach, shaking miserably. He retreated further. “I’m sorry I’m like this,” he whimpered.

“It isn’t your fault,” Aziraphale replied, not liking the disbelief he felt from Crowley at those words. “It isn’t!” he insisted fiercely. “And I’ll keep telling you that, and that I love you, until you believe me!”

Crowley fled to the doorway. He wavered. “Love you, Angel,” he whispered, then vanished.

Aziraphale clasped his hands and tried to savor small victories.

*****

“Are you sure?” Raphael asked as they stood outside the cell.

Crowley, his arms wrapped around his stomach and his eyes fastened on the ground, nodded slowly. “I’ll never be ready,” he admitted. “But I need to.”

Raphael signaled to the guard to unlock the cell.

Crowley took a breath and stepped inside.

The cell was identical to Aziraphale’s – small and plain. Its only furniture was a padded bench against the far wall which was long enough for sitting or lying down upon.

The angel was sitting bowed in the same pose Aziraphale had adopted. Like him, her wrists were shackled with a short chain between, the length of which was attached to the wall, providing her with a few meters of pacing room. 

Michael looked up quickly at the sound of the door. She visibly startled at the sight of the demon. “Crowley,” she whispered.

Crowley didn’t leave the doorway. 

He studied the Archangel who’d orchestrated his abduction. She looked far diminished from the figure he’d feared. Fine clothes reduced to prison garb. Confident authority gone. 

She looked vulnerable. Crowley found that fact brought him no satisfaction.

She stood up, stepping to the end of her chain.

Crowley forced himself to hold his ground.

“You look… better,” she said tentatively.

Crowley raised his eyes to study her face.

Michael faltered. “I… I want you to know I had no idea what Gabriel was doing. He was never authorized to misuse time like that. Or sexual assault. That never would have been permitted if we’d known.”

Crowley considered her for a moment. “Just the torture, then,” he said quietly.

“It was… I’m sure it’s hard to understand, but we had a _reason_!” Her expression started as earnest, but doubt soon clouded her eyes. “The war is imminent. We need to be able to protect ourselves. We need to win! We can’t let the demons destroy everything.”

“Because you’re the good guys,” Crowley replied. “So, it’s okay for you to use torture and slavery.”

Michael flinched and looked away. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.”

“Gabriel said when the war was over, all the demons left would be like me,” Crowley went on. It hurt, but he had to know. “Allowed to live as slaves.”

The Archangel lurched. “That wasn’t – we talked about the idea – but nothing was decided. It wasn’t… no one completely agreed…”

“He told Uriel. She was excited about the idea.” Crowley pulled his arms tighter around himself. “Then he cranked the collar up to 10 to show her how easy a demon was to control.”

Michael froze, then stumbled against a wall. She pressed her face into the stone. “That wasn’t the plan,” she whispered. “We just needed to win.”

“And you didn’t think about what came after,” Crowley pressed. He’d had a lot of time to think this through – ever since he’d seen the details of _Project Trojan_. “You said you didn’t know he was raping me. Would it have mattered? And afterwards – when Heaven was full of collared and _controlled_ demons – how long before that became perfectly natural?”

“No… No, we couldn’t…” Michael panted helplessly.

Crowley considered her for a long moment, then went on in his quiet voice. “I’ve been living with Raphael. He had to tell the neighbors about me. He told them to be nice. Do you know what they say? They say since an Archangel says it’s alright, it must be.”

Michael moaned. 

“That’s what would have happened. That’s what was happening. Gabriel showing everyone it was alright. The way he treated me. No one ever asked about the bruises. No one ever tried to make him stop.”

“I did,” Michael protested weakly. “I said he shouldn’t be using so much force anymore.”

“But you never stopped him. And anytime he had a meeting with you, he’d come back and take his feelings out on me.”

“I didn’t know,” the Archangel whispered.

“Because you chose not to.”

Michael didn’t deny it. She sat down, her head in her hands.

Crowley stood silent and watchful. Eventually he turned to go.

“Crowley,” Michael said suddenly. “I… I know what we did was wrong. I know **She** doesn’t approve. I know **She** ’s angry with us… I’m… I’m still trying to understand why.”

“Why torture is wrong?” Crowley stared at her.

“Why _winning_ wasn’t what **She** wanted. Maybe you’re alright, but demons…” She broke off.

Crowley trembled and gripped the doorframe. “I’m not an exception,” he hissed, feeling too many memories beginning to overwhelm him. But he wouldn’t break in front of Michael. She didn’t get to see him break. “And Gabriel’s not an exception either.”

Michael flinched. “No…” she whispered to herself.

“I don’t know what **She** ’s said to you,” Crowley went on. “I just know from what I’ve seen, there’s not much difference between Heaven and Hell. Mostly a lot of beings just trying to get on with their lives while some real bastards ruin it for everyone else.” He took a heavy breath. “Maybe just let the bastards fight it out, and leave the rest of us alone?”

Michael didn’t call out as he walked away.

Hael’s cell was next. 

Crowley wasn’t sure what to expect from the other angels involved with the proposing and implementing of the project. 

He again stayed in the doorway.

Hael lunged to his feet and began ranting immediately. How could they have been wrong? They couldn’t have been wrong. This had to be the will of…

“I’m sorry!” the angel wailed, slamming his head into the wall. “I’m so sorry. I never should have… Any of it…” 

He did most of the talking.

Remiel was a different matter.

“I’m not sorry!” she snarled, after insisting he was there to gloat. “We were right! Maybe Gabriel went too far, but we had to do it! We have to win! You can’t tell me demons aren’t evil. I’ve had friends murdered by those animals! They can’t be allowed to survive.”

Crowley watched her for a minute. Quietly, he crossed the room and sat down on the bench. “Tell me about them,” he said softly.

“What?!” the angel demanded.

“Your friends. What were they like?”

Eventually she told him. Eventually she sat down. Eventually he talked about demons he’d known with similar grievances. Eventually they simply talked.

Raphael squeezed his arm as they walked away from the cells. “I’m proud of you.”

“Will you still be proud when I spend the rest of the night crushed in a corner shaking?”

“I’ll sit with you if you’d like.”


	28. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning Tag: Gabriel  
> Enough said.

_Gabriel felt a tug of amusement when his assistant murmured that Aziraphale was waiting to speak to him. What could that traitor want?_

_First, he had to dispose of the slave. The assistant hadn’t used names, per instruction, and Crowley was working obliviously on the end of his ankle chain._

_Remembering to attach the chain when time was moving was a hassle. Crowley had dutifully acquired the habit of snapping on the shackle whenever he entered the office – sometimes irritating Gabriel who’d forget his slave had to be released before being transported elsewhere. He’d grown forgetful about moving the anklet to the cell, and there’d been no repeat summoning attempt. Really, he needed to remember to just return it to the armory._

_As he unchained Crowley, one of the demon’s joint rings grazed his shoulder. Gabriel glanced at it with a sudden thought. He hadn’t put his slave on the winches in a long time…_

_To his delight, Crowley absolutely panicked when Gabriel brought them to the room. “Please, Master! Please, no!” he sobbed, clutching at Gabriel’s pant leg as he cowered at the Archangel’s feet._

_The feeling of power and mastery swelled in Gabriel. Too often lately the demon had shown only resignation for what Gabriel did to him. This sudden breach of conduct and show of terror was empowering in a different way than absolute obedience._

_He crouched down and caressed his slave’s face._

_As his touch, Crowley’s pleas evaporated. The demon shook, even as he leaned desperately into Gabriel’s palm, his hand raised to tentatively brush Gabriel’s arm._

_“You don’t want to make me angry, do you, Sweetheart?” Gabriel asked tenderly._

_“N-no, Master. I want to please you!” the demon gasped hysterically._

_Gabriel let the slave’s anxiety rise. “If you get ready right now,” he mused, “maybe I won’t tighten the chains quite as much."_

_Crowley practically flew across the room. In seconds he knelt with wings clipped and fingers digging into his sides._

_Gabriel kept his word. He didn’t pull the wings quite to their limit. He just left the demon wrapped in chains and burning with agony as he departed to deal with Aziraphale._

_He turned out the lights on his way out, delighted by Crowley’s terrified, stifled shriek._

_Discovering his slave was afraid of the dark had been such a pleasure._

_He checked himself over, miracled his clothes clean, and whisked himself back to his office._

_He waited another ten minutes or so of started time before informing his assistant that Aziraphale could be shown in._

_The principality smiled with a worried air as he greeted Gabriel and sat down._

_“What seems to be the trouble?” Gabriel asked amiably._

_“It’s this, Sir.” Aziraphale handed a human newspaper clipping across the desk._

_The report was of a building nearly collapsing – prevented by what the article referred to as ‘near-miraculous’ circumstances._

_“Your work?” Gabriel asked. “Well done.”_

_Aziraphale reddened. “Thank you. But that’s not what I meant. It’s why the building nearly toppled.” He sighed, his body drooping. “There’s a new demon at work in London. This was the first time I actually caught him in the act, but…” He pulled out other articles detailing fatal accidents around the city. “I fear he’s been busy.”_

_Gabriel looked down at them with a disinterested air._

_“My old adversary was well-established in the area. Plus, rather lazy. I could generally keep ahead of whatever trouble he caused and spread more goodness than he could counter. But if there is a new demon at work, one trying to prove himself to Hell, there may be serious injuries for a few centuries before he settles down.”_

_Gabriel tried not to smirk. “Looks like you have your work cut out for you.”_

_Aziraphale winced. “I know I’ve grown complacent. But something else is worrying me.” He leaned forward. “Demons are territorial. Like animals. If Crowley’s dead or moved elsewhere, that’s one thing. But what if he comes back? There are sure to be fights if he finds another demon in his territory. That could be cataclysmic for the city.”_

_Gabriel felt a flicker of worry. Whether he allowed Michael to use Crowley for her project or not, his own plans did require his slave to be able to safely move around Earth, and, ideally, also Hell. Crowley wasn’t in any condition to stand up to another demon. Aziraphale might be right, whatever his real reason for coming here._

_“Interesting,” he murmured. “I would say this new demon needs to be dealt with promptly.”_

_Aziraphale nodded. “Exactly. I hoped you’d be willing to authorize another agent or two to help cover my territory. So we can track the demon down and eliminate him.” His expression turned anxious. “I… I’m not really armed for this sort of thing anymore.”_

_Gabriel smirked. “Yes… Whatever happened to your sword?”_

_Aziraphale flushed and stared at the ground with an uncomfortable mumble._

_“I’ll consider it,” Gabriel said at last._

_They spoke a little longer before Gabriel convinced him to leave._

_He gave Aziraphale a few minutes, then paused time and stalked after him._

_He was surprised to find Aziraphale actually heading for the exit._

_Suspicious, he hurried ahead to Earth._

_He found nothing irregular in his brief exploration of the bookshop. The summoning circle was long gone. Good, he could stop chaining Crowley._

_He paced the shop with rising confusion. Aziraphale had to be up to something. What was it?_

_He returned to Heaven, frustrated and tense._

_At least his favorite stress-reliever was all strung up and ready for him._

Mine, _he hissed in his mind as he thrust into the demon._ Mine, all mine. Aziraphale will never get you back. He just needs to give me an excuse. Something to prove what a traitor he is. Then we’ll see him punished. Will you like that, Sweetheart? When you get to watch what I do to him? When you finally learn there’s no one for you but me…

*****

_Aziraphale began his research the moment he returned to the bookshop. It took hours of searching, but he had ample information at his disposal and determination aplenty._

_“What did you find out?” the demon asked when he contacted Aziraphale that night._

_“Gabriel has him,” Aziraphale said flatly. “And it’s with Heaven’s consent. There’s a chain on his office floor. He’s keeping Crowley where anyone can see.” He looked down at the book detailing the bindings used long ago by King Solomon against another captive demon. It must have been why his summoning yielded no answers even before he aborted the attempt. Perhaps it was how Gabriel had known about his efforts._

_“That’s it then,” the demon grumbled. “No one stands against an Archangel.”_

_“No one alone,” Aziraphale countered. “But if we catch him unprepared, he’s no different than any other angel. Not if we’re properly armed.”_

_The demon’s eyes widened. “Are you saying…?”_

_“He’ll come here if I give him the right reason,” Aziraphale said grimly. “Then we either take him hostage or kill him. One way, we have leverage. The other, I have a little time to slip up there and try to find Crowley. And you get to be the demon who took out an Archangel.”_

_The demon looked very intrigued. “I’m listening.”_

  


* * *

  


Crowley stood outside the cell, his fingers clamped into his arms tight enough to leave red marks. 

He was aware of Raphael watching him gravely. But the Archangel didn’t suggest delaying or halting this idea.

It was something Crowley said he needed to do.

Not that it was easy.

He’d gone to Aziraphale that morning.

“Can you just hold me?” he’d whimpered as he curled himself on the bench and put his head in his angel’s lap. “And not ask why?”

And Aziraphale had wrapped his arms around him and not said a word for the hour which passed before Crowley reluctantly extracted himself from the warm embrace.

On good days he knew Aziraphale loved him. He just wasn’t positive Aziraphale _should_. But today he’d needed to believe in that love straight down to his core.

“Do you want me to go in with you?” Raphael asked. 

Crowley shook his head. “I want to do it alone.” He took a breath and unpinned the sigils from his jacket which he’d worn into the other cells. He held them out to Raphael, who took them with a puzzled expression. 

Crowley slid his glasses into place, took a steadying breath, and entered the cell.

Gabriel looked up at him with a smirk. “I knew you’d show up eventually.”

The sound of his voice took Crowley back to a dark and scared place where he was helpless, and that voice controlled his every movement. He shook, his skin crawling with the phantom sensation of Gabriel’s hands exploring him with unhurried pleasure.

“What happened to your hair, Sweetheart?” Gabriel purred. “I liked it long.” He watched Crowley with an amused leer, clearly savoring Crowley’s trembling. “I suppose you think you’ve won. Me locked up in here after what your traitor boyfriend did.” He chuckled. “It’s cute, really. Them trying to be so righteous about the whole thing. I’ll probably get demoted for a while.”

Crowley concentrated on not passing out. _Too soon_ , his mind screamed. _I should have waited. I’m not ready._

“They’ll figure out I’m indispensable sooner or later. And that nothing I did was that bad.”

Crowley squeaked a helpless sound of protest which he stifled down. _Not allowed to talk…_

Gabriel heard. His smile widened. “What have they been telling you? That they’re _sorry_? That you _matter_?” He laughed. “You’re not a person, Sweetheart. They feel guilty, so they’re playing nice. But once their guilt eases up a little, they’ll remember what you are. Or you’ll remind them. You’re so good at pissing people off. It’ll be all on you when they realize what a waste you are and throw you away.”

Crowley clutched his arms tighter around his stomach.

“Or maybe,” Gabriel’s voice picked up steam. “Maybe they keep stringing you along. Making you feel _valued_ and _loved_.” He sneered. “And then one day, they ask if you wouldn’t mind spying on Hell for them. And Michael gets her precious _Project Trojan_. With you, all eager to please your new _masters_.” He scoffed. “And once they’re done with you, you know what happens. They dispose of you. Just like any demon trash.”

Crowley was fighting hard not to go to his knees.

“You can still fix this.” Gabriel’s voice turned soothing. “Just tell them whatever you’ve said was a lie. They’ll believe you. Lying’s in your nature, after all. Just tell them how I tried to fix you. How everything that happened was your fault. You know it was. I tried to do things the easy way.”

Crowley wished Gabriel would stop talking. Maybe he could find his mind again if he could just have a minute to think.

Gabriel wasn’t giving him that minute. “You tell them the truth and things go back to how they were. If you can sell it properly, I may even go easy on you.” 

Crowley looked up in alarm.

Gabriel laughed, low and cruel. “You’re mine. You know that. Nothing’s changed. Sooner or later you’ll be back where you belong.” His tone turned earnest. “Wouldn’t you rather I was feeling pleased with you when that happens?” 

Crowley didn’t know what he thought. 

A few minutes ago, he’d been pretty sure of who he was and why he’d thought this was a good idea. Now all he could think was how badly he’d failed his master. Why was he still standing? And clothed? He didn’t belong this way. He was supposed to be in the dirt. **She** wanted him in the dirt.

That thought brought some rationale back to him.

“You,” he whispered hoarsely, “you’re not sorry about any of it?”

Gabriel’s voice dripped with amusement. “Why would I be sorry?”

“But… but **She** said you were in the wrong.”

Gabriel leaned back. “I admit, playing with time was a step too far.” He looked at Crowley with narrowed eyes. “I’d like to know how they figured that one out.”

Crowley shrank from him.

“But as for what it took to train you…” Gabriel flicked his hand dismissively. “I did what _you_ made necessary. Nothing happened which _you_ didn’t cause. They’ll figure that out. There’s no law regarding the treatment of demons. You’re a nonentity. You don’t matter. **She** threw you out. They can’t pretend you suddenly matter when they have **Her** actions proving you’re trash.”

Crowley’s world spun. His knees turned weak. He started to sink.

“That’s it, Sweetheart,” Gabriel crooned. “Down where you belong. Just come over here like a good little slave. I know you lost your way for a little while, but it’s alright. You’ll remember what you are soon enough.”

He was nearly down when a stray memory flickered through his mind. _Lost… lost in the darkness._ That’s what that voice had said. The half-real one in the forest. The one that had given him warmth. And said he’d soon find his way.

Crowley straightened. He took a ragged breath. “You don’t own me. You never did.”

Anger flashed across Gabriel’s face, replaced quickly with his cruel smile. “You can tell yourself that, but we both know the truth. You’re bound to me, and you’ll never get away.”

“But I’m not,” Crowley whispered. “The brand… it’s gone.”

A murderous look came to Gabriel. “If you think that means anything…”

“But it does.” Crowley felt a little more confidence coming to his voice. “I… I know what you were trying to do. It didn’t work. **She** didn’t want that. Isn’t that proof…”

“Shut up!” Gabriel lunged to the end of his chain.

Crowley crumpled. What confidence he had simply couldn’t stand up to his former master’s fury. That tone equaled pain. He couldn’t keep the terror from overwhelming his mind.

Gabriel continued to shout at him, but the hand which came to rest on Crowley’s back wasn’t Gabriel’s. And the pulse of reassurance he felt didn’t come from someone who could manipulate emotions. It came from a trickle of healing grace which took away the shock of his knees smashing into the floor. 

“So that’s your new master,” he heard Gabriel sneer. “I’m surprised at you, Raphael. Getting intimate with a demon. Especially one who’s already whored himself around.”

Raphael didn’t answer. He crouched down, speaking softly to Crowley. “What would you like to do?”

No suggestion. No pressure. The choices were all his.

“…I’d like to stand up,” Crowley panted. 

Raphael helped Crowley to his feet.

It was easier facing Gabriel this way. A steady force to lean against. Easier to remember the voice in the forest.

Gabriel glared at him. “I wondered how you could have the gall to walk in here on your own. You think he can protect you? Let’s see you talk back without your new _owner_ hovering. Can you even stand on your own?”

Crowley took a breath. Part of him wanted to answer Gabriel’s challenge. Most of him knew today wasn’t the day. But the important part was a soft flicker of reassurance through his mind which said that was okay.

“Maybe someday I’ll be able to,” Crowley whispered. “Maybe someday I won’t be afraid. But… but it’s okay right now… to need someone.” He glanced at Raphael, who nodded encouragingly. “People are helping me.”

“For now,” Gabriel spat. “How soon before you screw that up? How soon before they can’t stand the sight of you anymore?”

Crowley tilted his head meditatively. “ _You_ never got tired of the sight of me.” 

Gabriel started to retort, but Crowley turned away. 

He managed to keep upright until the cell door closed. 

Raphael gave him a few minutes. “Do you want to go to Aziraphale?”

“No!” Crowley felt a rush of shame. “Not like this!” He huddled against the ground. “Please, let’s just go,” he whimpered.

Raphael squatted down, holding up two fingers poised to snap. “Can you handle the fast route?”

Crowley shivered, aware that sound sent his mind to very bad places. But… he was already there. “Yes, please.”

Raphael snapped his fingers. 

The rush of terror was offset by the relief as Raphael’s room appeared around them. It took only seconds for Crowley to burrow into his bed – still fully clothed and glasses clutched to his face. 

“Can I do anything?” Raphael asked.

“Just…” Crowley poked his nose briefly out of his cocoon. “…tell me it gets easier.”

Raphael crouched down. “He’s always going to be part of you. But that piece will get smaller over time. You’ll find so many other things to add to the collection of pieces which make up you.”

“There aren’t many pieces besides him right now.”

“There will be more,” Raphael said with certainty. “You’re more than what he made you.”

“I’m more than what he made me,” Crowley echoed. He squeezed Raphael’s hand, then vanished beneath the blankets.

The nightmares left him alone.


	29. Chapter 26

_Aziraphale sent up regular reports of demonic activity in London. Really, he just clipped articles about utterly normal things from the London papers and jumbled them together with notes in the margin about how a fire_ might _have had hellfire origins, or a string of break-ins_ might _have had demonic manipulation behind them._

_He banked on Heaven’s ignorance of humanity to get his point across. He also ‘accidentally’ sent a copy to Michael._

*****

_“My office,” Michael demanded of Gabriel, even as she cast a disgusted glare at the demon on Gabriel’s office floor._

_Gabriel reluctantly rose and followed her across the hall. “What?!” he demanded with no attempt to hide his irritation._

_He couldn’t stand Michael anymore. Or anyone. Every noise, every demand for his attention. Voices grated against his nerves. Responsibilities swamped him. He had all the time he’d ever want to get things done. How DARE anyone tell him something had to happen immediately, or that he was late. Yes, he’d missed a few deadlines lately. But he’d get that straightened out. No need to be annoyed,_ Michael.

_He spent so much time outside of time that it was getting harder to remember when time was functioning. Just the other day – maybe it had been this morning? – he’d thought time was stopped, and then his assistant had walked in on him with Crowley bent over the desk. Throwing threats and a bookend at her had hopefully stilled her tongue for a while. He’d dragged Crowley off for some lengthy R & R after that._

_At least training was going well. Crowley was going to be a very useful spy when Gabriel was done with him. Not for Michael, no. He’d collect all the information Gabriel wanted on Earth, Hell, and Heaven. No one in Heaven paid any attention to the slave any longer. Crowley would be able to observe and gather information with few noticing. And his ability to sneak would soon be enhanced when Gabriel turned off the collar and permitted him the use of his powers. Where wouldn’t the little serpent be able to go?_

_He forced his mind back to the moment. To this place and time. To the fact that Michael was looking absolutely irate._

_“I’ve been contacted by Hell’s representatives,” she announced. “They know Crowley is here.”_

_Gabriel shrugged dismissively. “They don’t know anything. They can guess, but what proof could they have?”_

_Michael frowned. “I don’t know. But they sound sure. They want to know why we’re holding him and why they haven’t been notified. They demand we turn him over.”_

_Gabriel scoffed. “_ Hell _is acting like the moral, injured party? Adorable.”_

_Michael looked less amused. “Gabriel. This is a problem.”_

_“I don’t see why.”_

_“We were supposed to be able to return him with none the wiser. Hell’s sure to be suspicious of him now. You said they wouldn’t notice he was missing. You said you could have him trained before they thought to look for him here.”_

_“And I have! They know nothing.”_

_“You don’t know that. For all we know they’ve had spies reporting his whereabouts since you started parading him around in public.”_

_“Do you seriously think there are angels selling information to Hell?”_

_“I don’t see why there couldn’t be. We’ve dealt with demons for centuries.”_

_“If anyone’s a traitor, it’s Aziraphale.”_

_“That’s another thing.” Michael pulled a file from her desk. “Aziraphale’s gotten in touch with me regarding demonic activity in London.”_

_“He contacted you?!”_

_“He’s worried. And rightly so! We do have a responsibility to the humans. Plus, we can’t return Crowley to the area if he’s just going to get killed by another demon.”_

_“Aziraphale’s just worried about his boyfriend getting slaughtered.”_

_“Which is why I think we should bring him in.”_

_“I’ve talked to him. He still denies anything happened.” Gabriel belatedly recalled he never had gotten around to asking Aziraphale about Crowley._

_“No… I mean bring him onto the project.”_

_Gabriel jumped. “What?!”_

_“He knows Crowley better than anyone. And if he has rejected the demon’s advances all these years, he’s not going to be fooled by any stalling on Crowley’s part. Plus, he knows London. He can help integrate Crowley back into the territory and speed along phase two.”_

_Gabriel seethed. “Phase two is going just fine.”_

_“You’ve shown very little progress in the last month.” Michael’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. You got him to this point so quickly. But I haven’t seen any significant progress since then. I thought we’d have him back in the field by now at your rate of previous success.”_

_Gabriel looked away, muttering bitterly._

_It was true he could have had the demon ready for field work long ago… if he’d tried. Yes, he’d continued training the slave… when he remembered to. Much of his time had been spent more on amusement and avoiding Michael. Certainly, Crowley was much closer to field-ready than Michael knew, but since Gabriel had no intention of letting Michael have him, he’d avoided necessary steps like training Crowley not to act like a broken coward. So long as Crowley behaved like a shattered mess, Michael didn’t see how far along he was in watching and memorizing information around Heaven. Plus, Gabriel’s long-term plan of seeing demon-slaves as commonplace in Heaven required Crowley to play the submissive part at all times, not act like a functioning, potentially threatening, entity._

_“We need to find a way to spin his absence, especially if Hell has proof he’s here. Aziraphale may have some ideas and be useful in spreading false information to Hell. I want you to contact him and sound out his feelings. If Crowley’s telling the truth, Aziraphale may be very happy to have Crowley properly under control. And if we deal with this new demon in London, we’ll have the city entirely safe and under our influence.”_

_“Aziraphale’s lying!” Gabriel insisted. “There’s more between them than they say.”_

_Michael’s expression hardened. “If you won’t talk to him, I will. Find out where he stands and if he can help. Now.”_

_Gabriel whirled and stalked out of the office. He was barely out the door when he halted time._

_Aziraphale. Always Aziraphale!_

_Crowley wasn’t broken, much as he played the part. He tried hard to please Gabriel. He’d suppressed all those memories. Gabriel had made sure he’d felt pain any second his mind drifted in that direction. It had been an easy matter to arrange images and words to trigger Crowley’s recollections, then punish him mercilessly until Crowley studiously avoided thinking anything beyond what Gabriel wanted him to think. Systematic emotional manipulation had completed the work of making Gabriel the center of Crowley’s every thought and action._

_But it wasn’t enough. Somewhere in the demon’s psyche Aziraphale still lingered. Gabriel still wasn’t the true center of his devotion. Gabriel wasn’t enough. Gabriel could never extract all those deep and lingering roots Aziraphale had downed._

_He didn’t think he’d ever hated anyone as much as he hated that principality._

_A sting of pain in his hand brought him back to reality. He looked around, surprised to find his office utterly destroyed and a beaten and bloody demon cowering in his grip. He seethed further. Look what Aziraphale had made him do!_

_He strung Crowley up in his cell, making sure Crowley wouldn’t have a second free of pain to think about Aziraphale. His! The demon was his. Every thought in his mind should be for Gabriel. Never anything but Gabriel._

_He had to make sure of it. He had to eliminate the principality._

  


* * *

  


Raphael led the way as five figures winged their way through the sky of Heaven toward his estate. 

Crowley had fallen to the rear of the party. Aziraphale looked back often to check on the demon’s progress, but Crowley seemed to be flying well – just staying in a position where he could keep an alert eye on the group.

They landed in a field of wildflowers. The two guards stationed themselves on either side of Aziraphale as they went through the written and spoken requirements to turn him over to Raphael’s custody until the trial. The Archangel easily promised to keep watch on Aziraphale and take responsibility for his actions. Once paperwork was signed, the guards turned their flight back to the city.

Raphael gave Aziraphale a stern look. “Will you swear not to attempt escape?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“To stay within the boundaries of the estate,” Raphael went on. “To use no powers. To cause no one injury for any reason.”

Aziraphale’s expression tightened. His eyes slid to Crowley who stood, silent and observant, nearby.

“For any reason,” the Archangel repeated firmly. “You cannot raise your hand to anyone, no matter the cause.”

Aziraphale looked back at Raphael. “There is only one reason I’d fight.”

“I know,” Raphael said gently. “But for the time being, you have to accept that the burden of protection isn’t yours.”

The principality sighed and dropped his eyes. “I swear it,” he agreed at last.

Raphael removed his shackles. “I’ll make up a bed for you. I’m sure Crowley will want to show you around himself.” He turned to the demon. “He’s all yours.”

Crowley grinned, looking much more like his old self. “Come on, Angel. There’s a bush I need to check.”

The days which followed were sometimes relaxing and wonderful, and sometimes riddled with sorrow and stress.

The estate was peaceful. Aziraphale fell in love with it immediately – the grounds, the library, the simple healing work. The angel found ample books at his disposal, and the freedom to walk and fly again after months in a cell was glorious.

Crowley was far more at ease than he’d been in the city. He spent long hours in the garden, telling Aziraphale in animated details about the changes he’d made and the personalities of the plants. The look of cornered panic was gone from his eyes. He took Aziraphale on peaceful walks which were close (although not quite the same) to strolls in St. James’. At night they sat on the balcony and watched the sky.

Despite that, Crowley still wasn’t himself. It was jarring the first time he saw Crowley drop to his knees and huddle frozen against the ground. It hurt worse when Raphael steered Aziraphale away, leaving Crowley to struggle alone through whatever had terrified him.

“Celebrate his successes,” the Archangel insisted. “Don’t focus on his failings.”

“But I could hold him – help him.”

“Right now, he doesn’t want you to see him that way. He’ll get up on his own. And he’ll tell you in his own time.”

Indeed, Crowley soon rose and slipped into the garden.

Despite Raphael’s insistence that he wait for Crowley to broach the subject, he did ask once about what had happened during Crowley’s terrible captivity.

Crowley shook, tears coming to his eyes. “Not yet, Angel. Please. I can’t…” 

Aziraphale assured him that was fine.

It wasn’t fine.

It hurt that Crowley wouldn’t share with him. That Crowley pretended he was far better than he was. That Crowley shut and locked his door after saying goodbye to Aziraphale at night.

It hurt when he saw Raphael holding the demon’s hands while Crowley wept and talked quietly.

Jealousy festered within him. Jealousy he tried to suppress. This wasn’t about him, he reminded himself a dozen times. It was about what Crowley needed. 

But he wanted his love back. Selfishly, he wanted Crowley to be his alone. He wanted to be the one Crowley ran to when he was hurt. Who held Crowley at night and told him everything would be better.

He deserved it, didn’t he? After everything he’d done…?!

There came an afternoon when he came out of the library and found the demon absent. 

“Where’s Crowley?” he asked Raphael when he found the Archangel in his workroom.

“He’s off fetching apples from one of the neighboring orchards,” Raphael replied, his attention mostly focused on the potion he was mixing.

Aziraphale huffed. “He could have told me he was leaving.”

Raphael looked mildly at him. “His actions are his own.”

“No… I know…” Aziraphale sputtered.

The healer studied him. “Would you like to talk about what you’re feeling?”

Aziraphale scowled. “I’m not your patient.”

“No. But you’re my responsibility for the time being. And, like your friend, you have gone through a great trial. Would you like to talk about it?”

He didn’t mean to, but Raphael was a very good listener. And… it did help.

“I see why Crowley comes to you,” he said a little bitterly after he’d spilled out more than he intended. 

“I’ve been a good second best,” Raphael agreed.

Aziraphale looked up sharply. 

“It would be you he’d tell every bit of his troubles to if he felt like he could,” Raphael said gently. “But he’s too convinced you’ll reject him if he reveals his issues.”

Aziraphale sank into himself. “How do I convince him otherwise?”

The healer looked thoughtfully at him. “Have you considered telling him the charges you’ve been arrested for?”

Aziraphale flinched. “He’d be furious with me.”

“So, you’re afraid of rejection?”

“I can’t lose him again,” Aziraphale protested. “I can’t… let him see me like that.”

“And that’s what he’s feeling as well.”

That evening, the angel and the demon went up to the balcony.

“I need to tell you something,” Aziraphale began after a lengthy time of steeling his nerves.

Crowley, on his usual perch on the railing, didn’t look away from the sky. “What is it?” His voice was hollow and dead.

Aziraphale could feel the resignation and sorrow rolling off him.

_He thinks I want to leave him,_ he realized with horror.

That fact made him rush on. “I need to tell you what I did. What got me arrested.”

A long pause. “Raphael said it was for murder and attempted murder… and an assault on Heaven.”

Aziraphale sighed. “Those are the charges, yes.”

Crowley pushed up his glasses and studied Aziraphale with concern and confusion. “Who did you kill?”

Aziraphale wavered. “Can I show you?”

Crowley winced.

“I’m sorry, Darling!” Aziraphale said in a rush. “Should I not have…?”

“No, Angel.” Crowley bowed his head. “I just… I don’t know if I can ever do the same.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Aziraphale turned away, his voice lowering. “The truth is… once you know… I don’t know if you’ll want to see me again. I… I should have told you back at the jail. Before I agreed to this. I just… wanted some time with you before you found out.” 

He heard Crowley slip off the rail and alight beside him. “Aziraphale…”

“I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me again,” Aziraphale went on bitterly. “I thought what I was doing was right. I… I see now it wasn’t. Not all of it anyway. I don’t regret stabbing Gabriel. Just that it didn’t _work_.”

“I don’t regret that either,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale looked at him. The demon’s glasses were back in place and his gaze was focused on the distance. “Everything I did…” Aziraphale began tentatively. “It was…” He broke off. “It’s better to show you. Can I?”

Crowley slowly turned to face him. “Go ahead.”

_Goodbye, my dear,_ Aziraphale thought fleetingly as he lifted his hands and brought out the memories.


	30. Chapter 27

_Aziraphale smiled to himself at the sound of pounding on the bookshop door. He hadn’t expected the demon to visit, but perhaps his dubious ally had news. They’d agreed to stay away from each other until Aziraphale’s bait yielded results. Knowing his superior, it would take a little while longer before the constant reports got him annoyed enough to…_

_“Gabriel?” he gasped as the Archangel shoved past him and into the shop._

_Gabriel’s eyes were wide and wild. He whirled on Aziraphale. “What stories have you been feeding Michael?!” he demanded._

_Aziraphale took a swift step back. “I forwarded along my concerns about demon activity in London. I feared the threat wasn’t being taken serious-”_

_“That’s not your call to make!” Gabriel snarled in his face. “You answer to_ me _. I decide what’s important. You do as I tell you._ Is that so hard to understand?”

_Aziraphale took another step back. He’d expected annoyance when Gabriel finally came looking for him. But this screaming, frothing being barely looked angelic. Had his eyes always flared with such cruelty?_

_Confusion gave way to barely restrained anger. “Sir,” Aziraphale said slowly, trying not to grit his teeth. “My responsibility is for my territory. If I perceive a demonic threat, I am within my rights to ask for-”_

_“Your rights are what I say they are!” the Archangel fumed, his eyes blazing a reddish-purple brilliance. “You don’t go crawling to Michael because I don’t give you the answer you want. If there’s a demon problem in the area, get rid of it. Or are you too much of a demon-lover to do what needs to be done?”_

_Aziraphale’s chin jerked sharply. “Sir!” he protested. “I don’t know-”_

_“I know all about you and Crowley,” the Archangel hissed. “Filthy demon-loving traitor! You disgust me. You should be rotting in chains right now. And instead, you play innocent. Crawling to Michael, thinking she’ll believe your lies.”_

_He towered over Aziraphale, practically spitting in his face. “What did she offer you? It’s a lie! Do you think she’ll let you have him back when she’s done with him?”_

_“Back?” Aziraphale whispered mutely. Had he gotten it wrong? Was_ Michael _the one harming Crowley?_

_“Stop playing innocent!” Gabriel seized Aziraphale by the jacket and slammed him into a bookshelf._

_Aziraphale gave a cry of protest – not for himself, but for his precious books – some of which hit the ground at terrible angles and fell haphazardly open._

_“Shut up!” Gabriel snarled. He raised his hand as if he intended to slap the surprised principality._

_Aziraphale shoved hard, forcing the Archangel to stumble backwards. His hands contracted into fists and he squared his stance. “That was uncalled for,” he rumbled, his voice coming chilled to his own ears._

_“How dare you?!” Gabriel hissed, his eyes misting a vibrant red. “How dare you lay your hands on me, you filthy-”_

_“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of,” Aziraphale snapped, his temper rising. “I don’t know why you’ve attacked me. But I won’t stand for it. This is my home. My city. I protect those who reside here.” He advanced a step. “If you’ve harmed any who belong here…”_

_“Belong?!” The Archangel trembled with rage. “He doesn’t belong to you! He’s mine! If you think you can manipulate and blind Michael, you’re a fool. I know the truth. You’re a traitor. You’re as disgusting and filthy as he is. More so. At least he knows his place.”_

_“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, desperation surging through his fury. “What is it you’ve done to Crowley?”_

_Gabriel smiled cruelly. “Nothing he doesn’t deserve. Nothing you both don’t deserve. You’re next, Traitor.” He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. “I’m going to enjoy watching you break. I doubt it’ll take nearly as long the second time.”_

_Aziraphale had been on Earth a long time. He’d preached non-violence during some eras, and freedom fighting in others. He’d turned the other cheek, and he’d fought for the oppressed. He’d been trained in combat long before there was time and studied intricate fighting skills from the best warriors of Earth._

_There was something to be said for a solid right hook, as Gabriel could probably attest as Aziraphale smashed his nose._

_“Don’t call me a traitor!” Aziraphale bellowed as the Archangel stumbled and clutched his hands to his face. “I love my Creator! I’ve been faithful to my task since the first! I’ve done nothing but protect creation.” He loomed closer. “What have_ you _done?”_

_Gabriel glared with absolute murder in his eyes, blood dripping from his face and hands. “You’ll regret that,” he hissed._

_“No.” Aziraphale reached for him. “You’ll regret ever coming here and threatening…”_

_Gabriel dashed out the open bookshop door. An ugly and triumphant sneer marred his bloodied features. “You’ve made your last mistake. I’ll be back with guards. The next time I see you, you’ll be in chains.” He vanished up the street._

_The moment he was alone, Aziraphale sent out a message to his demon contact._ ‘He’s coming soon. Need assistance.’

_It wasn’t much, but their communication systems were limited. He’d just have to hope he got a response in time. And that he had time for one last errand._

*****

_The sushi restaurant had been operating for five years now. They’d had the occasional problem, but they’d had consistent customers to see them through the harder months and brief issues in the neighborhood._

_None were more regular than Mr. Fell, who visited nearly every Friday. His Japanese was excellent, and his manners were flawless._

_The friend who sometimes accompanied him was quieter and not so jovial a presence. He wasn’t much for the food, but he appreciated a good rice wine. And he’d charmed the chef’s wife when he’d admired her bonsai tree in the front window. After that, he’d always talked plants with her when he joined Mr. Fell._

_Neither had been seen much in the restaurant in the past few months. It was a surprise to the woman cleaning tables during the off hours when Mr. Fell entered carrying a flowerpot containing a sad-looking aloe plant._

_He explained that he needed to leave town to help a friend, and his friend had left his plant in his care. But as he couldn’t look after it right now, could she help?_

_He gave her such a look of desperation, that the woman promised to tend the plant as long as he needed. She tried to ask what was wrong, encouraged him to sit down for a roll, but Mr. Fell merely stroked the stem of the aloe, whispered he’d be back for it, and hurried away._

*****

_Aziraphale paced in the shop, trying to formulate a plan. If Gabriel came alone, that was one thing. But if he had guards with him…_

_He pulled his sword out of concealment and tested the edge. Still sharp, good. Pity he couldn’t light it in here. He’d moved the most valuable books to the back, but he wouldn’t risk any of his collection to the dangers of fire._

_Everyone believed he’d lost the sword… and he_ had _given it away. But 6,000 years on Earth was a long time. Sometimes one ran across things again. Eventually he’d reclaimed his lost blade. By then he’d gotten such a reputation as the angel who’d lost his sword that he’d thought it was better to stay that way. Imagine if he got dragged back to the Heavenly army! They might not let him stay in his bookshop if they thought he could be a warrior again. Plus, celestial weapons made Crowley nervous. He’d thought it kinder just to pretend he didn’t have a demon-smiting weapon on hand. Not that he’d ever_ use _it on his love._

_Nor did he intend to use the sword on the Archangel. The demon was bringing him a hell-forged blade for threatening Gabriel. The sword was in case the demon proved untrustworthy. As was the bottle of holy water stashed behind the counter._

_A banging on the door awoke him from reflection. He slipped the blade back into concealment and opened the door with a lurch of relief. “I wasn't sure you’d come.”_

_“Said I would, didn’t I?” the demon grunted as he slid through the door. A second demon in the guise of a German shepherd followed behind him._

_“Brought reinforcements,” the demon explained, cocking a thumb at the dog._

_“Good,” Aziraphale replied. “Gabriel said he’d be bringing guards. My thought is to let him in and block the door before the guards…” He trailed off, staring at the dog._

_The shepherd had his nose in the air and was sniffing intently. “There’s been a demon here,” he remarked._

_“Well, yes. Crowley’s been here often,” Aziraphale replied, bemused._

_“Not the serpent…” the dog murmured. He dropped his nose to the ground and began to track back and forth across the floor._

_“Please be careful!” Aziraphale protested as the dog wove through his displays._

_“It’s probably just me,” the demon called._

_“It’s not you,” the dog insisted. He vanished into the backroom._

_Aziraphale and the demon hurried after him._

_“Smells like holy water,” the dog announced as they arrived._

_Aziraphale felt his blood grow cold. “Ah… I do keep some on hand…”_

_“Spilled it recently?” The dog’s hackles stood on end. He cast about, his gait now stiff-legged and tense._

_“Perhaps we should get ready? Go wait in the front?” Aziraphale suggested anxiously._

_“What are you so nervous about?” the demon demanded._

_“There’s summoning magic here,” the dog rumbled, sniffing hard at the edge of where Aziraphale’s chalk circle had been._

_“Yes… I’m sure I mentioned I tried to summon Crowley.”_

_The dog circled the edge of the washed-away ring. “Why does it smell like holy water INSIDE the circle?”_

_The demon snarled and backed away from Aziraphale, his eyes widening with alarm._

_“Now, look,” Aziraphale protested. “It’s not what you think.”_

_“What I think is you bloody melted a demon,” the demon snapped._

_“It wasn’t Crowley! He really is missing! I’m not the one who hurt-”_

_“So what if it’s not your boyfriend!” the demon interrupted. “You go around melting demons?”_

_“No!”_

_“Smells like you did,” the dog insisted._

_“It wasn’t anyone important,” Aziraphale tried to explain._

_“Important?! You killed someone and you only care if they were important?!”_

_Aziraphale stumbled back, stunned by the two furious individuals glaring at him. “No! I mean… it didn’t matter… I mean…”_

_“Just a demon, huh?” the demon snarled. “Doesn’t matter if it gets you your boy-toy back? Did that one not want to play kill-the-Archangel with you?” He backed toward the door. “How many of us have you dragged into your mess?”_

_“I haven’t! I just needed information!” In his mind Aziraphale heard the demon’s terrified screams as he poured out the bottle. It hadn’t mattered then. His secret had to be protected._

_“And they wouldn’t give it to you?” the demon asked._

_Aziraphale failed to hide the wince._

_“I think they did,” the dog said slowly, stalking closer to Aziraphale. “I think you got what you wanted, and then you threw them away. Is that your plan? Is that what you would have done to Hastur if I hadn’t come along?”_

_“No!” Aziraphale backed away from the demons. But even as the word left his lips, he heard the contrary echo in his mind. Would it be such a bad thing if this demon, who clearly loathed Crowley, was killed in the fight? He could easily make it look like an accident. One less danger to him and his love. One less demon who knew too much._

_The demon glared at him, a mixture of fury and fear on his face. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered to the dog. He hastened for the front door._

_“Wait!” Aziraphale pursued them helplessly. “I can’t fight without you. We have to stop Gabriel!”_

_“Why? Seems like he and you are both good at lying and killing our kind.” The demon reached for the doorknob._

_“At least leave me a hell-blade,” Aziraphale protested._

_The demon glared back at him with open hatred in his eyes. “I hope the Archangel destroys you,” he hissed._

_The demons vanished out the door._

_Alone, Aziraphale shook in confusion and alarm. Alone! No allies! Why had they been so quick to run? And saying he was like Gabriel? He was nothing like that! He’d only killed because… because what else could he do?!_

_No time to think of it now. He had very little time before Gabriel would certainly arrive._

_He fetched his sword. New plan. If he couldn’t kill Gabriel, he’d just have to subdue him. Force the Archangel to tell him everything. Then… then he’d have to come up with the next step of the plan._

_And let his double-crossing allies know what he thought about them if he ever caught them alone…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's a [a very good boy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marchosias), but only if [you're on his good side.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19054990/chapters/45271372)
> 
> * * *
> 
> _"But Dacelin, if these are Aziraphale's memories, how can part of the narrative be from the perspective of the restaurant owners?"_
> 
> _"....Look, did you want to know what happened to the aloe plant or not?"_


	31. Chapter 28

Crowley wrenched away, his eyes wide and wild. “You…”

“I thought it was the only way to protect us,” Aziraphale protested weakly, reaching out for Crowley.

The demon scrambled beyond his reach, his arms raised as if to defend himself from a blow. “You killed him,” he panted, his voice a horrified tremor. “He told you what you wanted to know… and you just… disposed of him.”

“I know it was wrong now…”

Crowley backed further away, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s face as if he didn’t recognize him. “And you wouldn’t have cared if Hastur or Marchosias had gotten hurt… killed. They didn’t matter. They were _just demons_.” 

“I had to save you,” Aziraphale insisted. “I didn’t think-”

“I saw exactly what you were thinking! That they didn’t matter. You never even bothered to learn their names. And that one you killed - He was just means to an end.” He turned away, his arms clasped around himself. “Just like me.”

“No! You’re everything to me! You’re not like-”

“I’m exactly like them!” Crowley whirled, screaming in Aziraphale’s face. “I’m no different! Just because you love me doesn’t mean I’m worthy of surviving and they’re not!”

Aziraphale stumbled back. He wanted to take Crowley in his arms, but he knew that was exactly the wrong action. He just… couldn’t think how to make this right. 

Crowley stayed where he was, his head hanging low and his fists clenched. “Do you want to know what Gabriel did to me?” he asked with a savage note in his voice. “He branded me. He called me his slave. He made me believe it. Believe how worthless I was. How all I was good for was to serve. I spent _years_ living at his feet. Crawling in the dirt because that’s where I belonged. Letting him torture and rape me because that’s what I deserved. I wasn’t good enough to even look him in the eye. Any angel. I crawled for all of them. And if any of them asked why – questioned what he did – Gabriel said I was just a demon. A nonentity. _I didn’t matter_.”

Aziraphale hugged himself, sobbing helplessly.

“And through it all, I thought at least _you_ felt differently. That if you’d been there, even if it had been some other demon, you’d have said it was wrong.” He raised his head, his eyes searching Aziraphale’s face with an imploring look. “But that’s not true.” His breath hitched. “You’re no different from him.”

“No!” Aziraphale edged closer, tentatively reaching out a hand. “I love you…”

Crowley backed away, his gaze hardening. “But not what I am.” He leaped off the balcony.

Aziraphale stood frozen for a second, then he jumped after. “Crowley, please! Please, let me…” Explain? What would he even say? He just needed Crowley to know he was sorry. To feel his love and remorse.

Crowley flew swiftly, never looking back. He skimmed across the field, ducked low, and vanished into the forest.

Aziraphale halted at the forest edge. This was his boundary line. He paced uncertainly. If he followed, he’d be sent back to jail, another strike against his already dubious record. And if he followed, Crowley was sure to continue running from him. It wasn’t the right choice.

Badly as he wanted to take Crowley in his arms and _make_ him understand.

If he was just sure what there was _to_ understand.

He trudged back to the house.

Raphael was waiting at the door. “Let’s talk,” he said firmly.

Despite the statement, they sat in silence at the table for a very long time.

“I was right,” Aziraphale said at last. “He hates me now.”

Raphael raised his eyebrows. 

“I shouldn’t have told him,” Aziraphale muttered. He winced at the words and buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed. “I love him so much.” His resistance broke. “He’s right to hate me.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s right! Because that demon I killed could have been him. Because I love him, but I never…” He struggled. “Demons aren’t… real people. That’s what we were taught…” He covered his eyes. “All these years… I thought I was more… open-minded than the rest of them. I always got along with my adversary. Never tried to destroy him. Eventually, I loved him. But he’s right. He was always the exception to me. Never proof they could be… more.”

He shook in silent contemplation for a long time. Eventually he dropped his hands and looked at Raphael through hazy, red-rimmed eyes. “Did you know? What Michael and Gabriel were planning?”

Raphael studied his folded hands. “I’d like to say no. I’d like to say this whole thing caught me utterly by surprise.” 

The Archangel sighed. “A long time ago, Earth was where I worked. Where I healed injuries. Where I was called. And when the pain was more than I could bear, I’d return to the peace of Heaven. Recharge. Feel myself made whole.

“And then… I started finding more pain in Heaven. Earth became… too much. So many people. So many needs I couldn’t fix. And as time passed, Heaven became too much to bear.”

Aziraphale nodded. He’d far preferred Earth to the bickering of Heaven. It had always made him wistful for the time before the Fall. When Heaven had been a true place of love and peace.

“So… I retreated. I went to Earth only when I was called. Entered the busy parts of Heaven only when required. The rest of the time, I kept my distance. I insolated. I protected myself.” He closed his eyes. “I lived too much in the past. Denied how Heaven had changed. Denied the rumors I heard. Because Heaven couldn’t be like the whispers. _We_ couldn’t be like that.” He contemplated the air sorrowfully. “I think Crowley was sent to me for my own benefit as well as his. I can’t ignore what Heaven has become now.”

“And if you hadn’t met him?” Aziraphale asked. “If you’d stayed secluded? What might have happened?”

“I might have emerged to find the war won and the remaining demons enslaved.”

Aziraphale gasped.

Raphael watched him sadly. “That was Gabriel’s plan. Crowley was the first. Gabriel’s test subject for how to break a demon and make it into the perfect, subservient slave.”

Aziraphale trembled. “No…”

“If things had gone according to his plan, he would have had proof of divine approval and the backing of the majority of Heaven. If it had gone that way, I would have disapproved… but I would have retreated further. I suspect Raguel would have reacted similarly. She might have perceived it as injustice, but if our Creator had given indication of approval, she would not have stood against the other Archangels. But that wasn’t what happened. We know **She** is angry with Gabriel and Michael’s plan.” He took a breath. “I’m grateful I’ve been given a second chance to make the right choices. To overcome my own prejudices and see the demons as **Her** children.” He smiled softly. “I’m blessed to have gotten to know Crowley. I hope I’m given the opportunity to reintroduce myself to more of the Fallen and learn who they are now. As individuals. Not just a collective we tell horror stories about.”

Aziraphale nodded, his head in his hands. “I want that too. But it may be too late.” He looked up at Raphael. “I just want him to know I love him. I want… I want to give him whatever I can. For whatever time I have.”

Raphael nodded. “For now, the best gifts you can give him are patience and choice. He’s been denied his own mind for so long. In a way, I’m proud to see him angry at you. He’s grown strong enough to feel he _can_ be angry. That he doesn’t have to give in to what you want. I know how it feels from your side, but it’s good he’s allowing himself to feel. To wrestle with what you did and what that means.”

“So… it might be good for him to lose me?” Aziraphale felt a new wave of helplessness hit him. 

“That’s his choice. Let him make those choices. Listen to what he says. Don’t try to force him to take your view.” Raphael gave him a gentle smile. “He loves you. That’s why this hurts so much. But I suspect it will also incline him towards forgiveness.”

They talked well into the night.

*****

Crowley hadn’t returned by morning. Though Raphael said not to worry, Aziraphale looked often toward the trees. 

Near evening, he tried not to rush forward with relief when he saw Crowley flying back. He forced himself to keep on with what he was doing. _Let him come to me,_ he reminded himself. _Let him make the choice._

It was hard not to immediately embrace the demon later when Crowley landed on the balcony rail beside him.

“You said you were starting to understand you’d done the wrong thing,” Crowley said without a greeting. “Why? Because you got caught?”

“No…” Aziraphale hugged himself to keep his hands from reaching for Crowley. “Well, yes, in that it gave me a lot of time to think – sitting in a cell waiting for Heaven and Hell to decide what to do with me. It’s terrible but… I was surprised that the demons were upset I’d killed one of their own. And then… then I wondered why I was surprised. And I started wondering about everything I believed… and wondering why I believed those things. Why hadn’t I felt remorse? That was when I started working out that I’d done something terrible, and there was something wrong with me that I didn’t know it was terrible.”

Crowley was quiet for a minute. “There’s a lot of anger in you. A _lot_ of anger.”

Aziraphale bowed his head. “I didn’t know I could be that angry. Not until I knew you were in trouble. It’s not an excuse, I know. But that rage was just so… consuming. Nothing else mattered except getting to you. Getting rid of Gabriel and seeing you safe.”

“That’s not how I want to be safe, Angel. Not with innocents killed.” Crowley winced. “Okay, Hastur’s not innocent. But he didn’t cause what happened to me. Being ready to sacrifice him… that’s not right.”

“I know… I know that now.” Aziraphale closed his eyes. “I just want you to know I’m sorry.”

“For which part?”

“Devaluing them. The person I killed. The allies I thought were disposable.” He cringed. “Even you.” The tears came thick to his eyes. “I should have known better. I shouldn’t have blindly accepted so many prejudices. I should have seen the truth for myself.”

“What truth?”

Aziraphale looked at him. “You and I… we were never any good at being enemies. We started the same, and we were never that far different. You’re right. I never should have considered you an exception. We were on opposite sides, but that doesn’t mean we’re…” He struggled. “One of us isn’t less than the other. **She** didn’t make us that way.”

“ **She** tossed some of us out. Kind of seems like maybe some of us are of less value.” Crowley stared into the distance, his voice bitter and empty.

“That’s Gabriel’s talk,” Aziraphale said sharply. “Not yours. This isn’t how you used to be.”

“It kind of is. I always knew I wasn’t good enough for you. That I’d bring you down eventually. And I was right.”

“No!” Aziraphale grimaced as Crowley flinched, but he continued anyway. “I made my own choices. I made them guided by Heaven’s blindness. Not some corruption of yours. You didn’t bring me down, Crowley. You… you raised me up. You taught me to love. To value someone different from myself. To be willing to sacrifice everything.”

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to sacrifice what you did.”

“I know that now… I’m trying to be better. I… I want to be more like you.”

Crowley looked incredulous. “Me?”

“You’re so strong. You went through years of agony and yet you’re fighting to find yourself again. You’re still trying to trust. Gabriel couldn’t destroy you. And… and you’re not overwhelmed with hate. I don’t know how you aren’t wishing to slaughter every angel in Heaven. But I can feel it. You don’t hate. Not really.”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m too tired to hate. Tired of being hurt. Of fighting.” He looked up at the sky and raised his voice. “How much longer before this all makes sense?!”

Aziraphale looked away, aware he wasn’t the one being addressed. “I’m sorry,” he said at last. “For so many things.”

Crowley sighed. “I need more time. I need to think.”

“I’m glad,” Aziraphale murmured.

The demon looked curiously at him.

“I want you to choose. I don’t… I don’t want you to just do what I want.”

“You’ve been talking with Raphael.”

Aziraphale studied the ground. “If you want me… I’m waiting for you. To answer your questions. To talk. To listen. Whatever you need. Even if… even if that isn’t me.”

He felt a fleeting touch on his hand. Then Crowley was gone again.

*****

It took another two days of brief encounters. Of Crowley approaching to ask questions or dropping downright alarming bombshells about his captivity, then backing away as if expecting Aziraphale to be the one to refuse him information or reject him. Aziraphale tried to remain steady. He wanted Crowley to feel he was trustworthy enough to tell him what he’d been through. He also wanted Crowley to know he was trying to change.

It was at the end of the second day as he was reading in the library that the demon sidled up, crawled onto the couch, and burrowed his head into Aziraphale’s lap.

The angel’s heart pounded. “Am… am I forgiven?” he asked cautiously.

Crowley was silent long enough for Aziraphale to want to tear his hair out.

“If…” the demon said slowly, “if you keep learning to get past what you believed.”

“Absolutely, Darling. I want to learn. You know how much I like learning.”

Crowley didn’t laugh. “You have to do something else.”

“Anything,” Aziraphale promised without hesitation.

Crowley sat up and looked earnestly at him. “It can’t just be you. You have to tell the other angels. That they can’t just write off the others and me as the enemy. As nothing.”

Aziraphale nodded. He reached out and took Crowley’s hand. “I promise I won’t keep silent. I’ll shout at my trial that you’re not nothing. That none of the Fallen are. That I’ve been blind too long.” He lifted the hand to his lips. “I don’t want to hide anymore. I want everyone to know I love you. No matter what it costs me.”

Crowley pulled his hand away. 

Aziraphale had a fleeting second of hurt. Then Crowley’s hands were cupped around his face, his lips were pressed to Aziraphale’s, and Aziraphale’s heart was erupting with love.

*****

“That’s…” Aziraphale found he couldn’t find the words as he looked between Raphael and the open book.

Over the past weeks, Crowley had slowly begun to tell his story. It went in bits and pieces. He didn’t want Aziraphale to know much of what he’d suffered – not yet. But at some point he’d wanted to explain about the brand. To Aziraphale’s confusion, Crowley seemed convinced it had been an act of betraying Aziraphale’s memory.

Crowley had needed Raphael’s assistance to explain what Gabriel had intended.

Aziraphale burned with anger as he stared at the book (Raphael’s ban from the library finally lifted by the grudging librarian). He read over the ancient ceremony, nodding slowly with remembrance of the long-discarded declaration of love.

And Gabriel had wanted to butcher it to create a slave.

Aziraphale fought down his anger, aware Crowley was watching and feeling what he felt. But Crowley seemed much calmer to Aziraphale’s fits of anger now. Better able to understand that they were directed elsewhere, even if Aziraphale always felt his spark of fear anytime someone raised their voice. 

“How could he…?!” he demanded of Raphael.

The Archangel shook his head. “To gain proof **She** approved? Which, **She** did not. No one but Gabriel believed slavery had a place in Heaven. And, when the trial is over, _everyone_ will _know_ it has no place here.”

He faced Aziraphale. “Speaking of the trials… I’ve had word from Raguel.”

Aziraphale nodded. “When does it start?”

“In a few days. She wants you back in the city shortly.” 

Aziraphale nodded. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For letting me stay here.” He laced his fingers with Crowley’s. “Whatever happens, we’ve had this.”

“We’re not leaving you, Angel,” Crowley said stoutly. “We’re _all_ going back to the city.”

“My dear, you don’t have to.”

Crowley kissed him. “I’m choosing to.”

Evening found them on the balcony where they’d rested on so many nights.

Aziraphale struggled with his courage once more. “Crowley… I know… I don’t know what will happen at the trial. This may be the last time we’re together… for a long time. Free, I mean.”

Crowley turned to look seriously at him.

“It’s just… the ritual… the one Gabriel tried to butcher… I’ve known about it for a long time. The real one. I’ve wanted to ask… I just…” His fingers twitched reflexively. “…never had the courage to ask. But…” He dropped down to one knee, gripping the hand of the bemused demon. “I love you. I’ve never loved anyone but you. I don’t know how much time of freedom I have, but I want that to be with you. In **Her** eyes. I want to join with you. I’ve wanted to for so long. I should have asked long ago. Maybe then you’d have known we were equals. In my eyes. And in **Hers**. Would you…” He faltered. ‘ _Marry me_ ’ didn’t encompass what he felt. “…Become one with me?”

Crowley sucked in a breath and pulled away. “I’m not who I was, Angel. I’m not who you fell in love with.” He bowed his head. “I’m just a lot of broken pieces.”

“Mending pieces,” Aziraphale insisted. “I don’t love you for who you were or who you became. I love you for who you ARE. The being inside all those bits which Gabriel could never touch. Nothing’s changed, my dear. My feelings certainly haven’t.”

“Even,” Crowley struggled, “knowing I’ve been… used. Degraded. Betr-”

“No! You never betrayed me. And even if you had – even if _years_ of torture and pain had forced you to denounce our love, I’d still love you. I love you for your scars. For what you suffered for my sake. I know… I know I’ll never be good enough for you…”

Crowley’s arms were around him. “Never say that,” he hissed. “Never think one of us is less than the other.”

“Then… if I can accept your pain, and you can accept my flaws… could we be one?”

Crowley pulled back and studied him very intently. “I do have a bed,” he ventured at last.

*****

The night was long and slow. They relearned one another at an unhurried pace. Lights on. Always facing one another. Crowley set the pace and Aziraphale gave control over wholly to his love. The slightest flinch and he’d pull away and wait. It was only when Crowley pressed into him and whispered, ‘ _yes_ ’ that they proceeded at rising speed.

In the early hours they whispered their devotion, their connection. They pressed together, one in flesh as much as possible, swearing to love none but the other – hadn’t it already been true?

And then, a welcoming heat. A holy glow. 

An honored bond.

_Real._

*****

Gabriel raised his eyebrows when his cell door opened. “Again? Really?”

Crowley stood quivering in the doorway. But he stood solidly this time. Not eyeing the floor as if he wanted to be lower.

“Are you sure you don’t need your _owner_ to-”

“Shut up,” the demon said sharply.

The words startled Gabriel into breaking off. His eyes narrowed. “You don’t get to tell me that.”

“Actually… I do.” Crowley stood a little straighter despite his trembling. “You don’t own me. You don’t control me. No matter how the trial goes, you’ve lost.”

Gabriel snorted. “Do you think anyone will believe your word over mine?”

“Maybe not yet,” Crowley admitted. “Maybe Heaven’s still struggling with prejudices and doubt. But **She** values me. You can’t tell me it was **Her** plan anymore. Not when I’ve seen proof otherwise.”

“Because **She** activated Raguel?” Gabriel scoffed. “That was just because of the time manipulation.”

“Are you sure of that?”

Gabriel rose and advanced to the end of his chain. “You’re Fallen, Sweetheart. **She** threw you away. You’re nothing to **Her**.”

Crowley trembled, but he stood his ground. “ **She** made me. Maybe I… I don’t understand everything. Why I Fell and why you didn’t. But I… I believe we’ll all know the truth soon. And I know that truth didn’t include me as your property.”

Gabriel scoffed. “You’ve forgotten your place.” He smiled, cold and malicious. “I’m going to enjoy reminding you of it. Even if I can’t play with time anymore, there are plenty of places I can take you where no one can find you. Where it’ll just be you and me. Forever.”

Crowley put out a hand to steady himself against the wall. He took a breath. “That’s never going to happen.”

“Won’t it? I’ve got eternity, Sweetheart. They can’t get rid of me. I’m too valuable. Maybe they’ll keep an eye on me for a while, but I’ll play nice. Everything will be back to normal before too long, and when you least expect it, I’ll be right behind you to remind you what your _normal_ is.”

Crowley didn’t seem to hear the threat. His shielded eyes searched Gabriel’s face. “You don’t regret it? Not a single second of it? Sitting in here with all this time to think…?”

“The only thing I regret is not carving out your lying tongue,” Gabriel snapped. “That’ll be the first thing to go. No… the eyes first. So I can hear you scream.”

Crowley turned away.

“Get back here!” Gabriel shouted. “I’m not done with you.”

But Crowley was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four chapters left! One last flashback on Wednesday, and the trial begins on Friday. There will be one last art update next Wednesday, and the story will conclude next Friday. Can you believe it? You guys have been so amazing. Thanks for all the support, for sticking through the occasional missed post, and for cheering this story along. I appreciate it so much.


	32. Chapter 29

_“Sir, there are procedures. We can’t…”_

_“I want that principality arrested immediately!” Gabriel practically lunged across the counter at the unfortunate angel currently manning the desk for Heaven’s policing department._

_He’d thought this would be easy. Just grab some guards and go. He’d never had trouble before._

_But angels had actively avoided him as he’d stormed through Heaven. It had taken time just to force someone to listen to his ranting, and the one who finally did had gone on about legal forms, and proper procedure, and precedent. And now they scrambled out of the way, calling for a superior, instead of just_ doing _what Gabriel ordered._

_“Gabriel? Is something wrong?”_

_The Archangel whirled, ready to smite anyone who got in his way. He checked himself when he saw the speaker was Uriel._

_She stood in the doorway, her brow furrowed in concern. Her eyes lingered on Gabriel’s broken nose and blood-drenched face. “What happened?” she asked, drawing near and reaching out her hand._

_Gabriel gritted his teeth and allowed her to heal him. “Aziraphale,” he snarled._

_“Who?”_

_“A principality. Field agent. Earth.” The gentle touch of healing grace wasn’t soothing his rage at all, but it was making it harder to focus his thoughts on his fury._

_“He hit you?” Uriel’s eyes widened. “Why?”_

_“He’s a traitor. Been screwing a demon for years._ My _demon.” He couldn’t keep the possessiveness from his voice. “I finally have proof, and this is what he does.” He glared at the now-empty desk. “Now I just need_ someone _to do their job so I can arrest him!”_

_“So… he’s upset the demon was taken away,” Uriel murmured. “That’s kind of romantic.”_

_He whirled back to her. “What?!”_

_“I’m not saying it’s not disgusting,” Uriel clarified. “But, it’s like one of those human romance stories, isn’t it? Two lovers caught between warring factions? One locked away and the other pining for them?”_

_Gabriel stared at her. “It’s an animal,” he hissed. “A depraved, vile, demon. Its only worth is as a slave. And it’s not even good enough for that.”_

_“I don’t know,” Uriel continued thoughtfully. “You seem pretty attached to him. Can you blame some other angel for feeling the same way?”_

_“It’s different! I don’t forget what they’re capable of. What they’ve done to us. They deserve to suffer for their crimes. We need to make them pay.”_

_Uriel frowned. “I thought you said they’d be happier…” She broke off, taking a step back at the scathing glare Gabriel cast her way. “Maybe you should sit down…”_

_“Get away from me!” he snapped. “There’s nothing wrong. I’ll be fine once someone_ actually does their job _!” He shouted the last over the desk, but the office had cleared while he dealt with Uriel. Hissing, he stormed from the room._

_Uriel followed. “Are you sure you’re alright?”_

_“Fine!”_

_“You just seem… tense. Maybe you’re working too hard? Or getting too… connected to the demon…”_

_Gabriel barely resisted slamming her into a wall. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”_

_“Nothing! Or…” Uriel licked her lips. “There have been some rumors going around about what you get up to with him. Things that… angels really shouldn’t do.”_

_Gabriel staggered back from her._

_“I’m not saying they’re true,” Uriel clarified hastily. “But maybe it’s time you let someone else help with the project? If you’re not comfortable with Michael, maybe I could…”_

_“Don’t you dare go near him!” Gabriel snarled. “He’s mine! And if anyone thinks they…” He snapped his fingers. He didn’t need to deal with this nonsense. He didn’t need to take anything from anyone!_

_He materialized inside the cell. And there was his slave. His toy. His property. HIS. All strung up and waiting for him._

_“What have you done?” he snarled at the demon, taking out anger, frustration, and a sense of losing control on the one being who would never be outside his control._

_It was Crowley’s fault. Tempting Gabriel. Waylaying him from the job he should be doing. Stirring up his emotions so that he picked fights with other angels._

_If he didn’t get it together, he was sure to lose something dear to him. His well-earned respect. His title._

_His slave._

_Never! He’d never give up Crowley. He wouldn’t let Michael take him away. Or Uriel. Or anyone else._

_Certainly not Aziraphale._

_The principality had to go._

_And if he couldn’t arrest him, well, there were other methods._

_He left his slave properly drenched in his scent and marks. The slave wouldn’t forget him while he was away, that was certain. He’d deal with Aziraphale first, then move Crowley where none but Gabriel would ever touch him._

_To his utter irritation, his demon contact proved to be off the radar. They didn’t respond to Gabriel’s messages, nor could they be found at their usual Earthly haunts._

_That took hellfire off the table. But surely Heaven’s arsenal held a few seized hell-forged blades._

_It did not, or at least Gabriel’s impatient searching yielded none. He’d tried asking the weaponsmaster, but the angel asked too many pointed questions regarding_ why _Gabriel needed such a thing for the Archangel’s taste. He halted time and searched himself._

_Giving up the hunt, he stormed for the tech labs._

_It would have been best to destroy the principality with Hell’s weapons. The blame could have been easily laid on a demon that way, effectively cutting off whatever negotiating that idiot Michael was trying to accomplish._

_But, he thought as he headed for Earth, a prototype collar in hand, this method was sure to prove more pleasurable._

_*****_

_Gabriel did not expect a fight._

_Not from the fluffy angel whose claim to fame was losing his sword._

_Worthless, failure of a warrior. He’d been dumped on Earth for a reason._

_No, as Gabriel eliminated the bookshop door with a snap of his fingers and strode inside, he expected only protests and pleas. He expected the fight to be very brief._

_He did not expect to find the whole front of the shop entirely cleared of books and to have the principality, armed with a blazing sword, launch himself at the Archangel without the least hesitation._

_Gabriel was right about one thing._

_The fight was brief._

_*****_

_Aziraphale stood panting over the body at his feet, trembling somewhere between shock, rage, and satisfaction at what he’d just done._

_Except… what had he done?_

_He'd had a plan, but somewhere in the waiting, somewhere in the imagined terror of what could be happening to Crowley right now, it had all gone away in favor of mindless fury._

_And what good was that now that the deed was done?_

_Gabriel wasn’t dead – or wouldn’t be dead long enough to count._

_Crowley was still in danger._

_And if what Gabriel had said about Michael meant something…_

_…It meant all of Heaven was guilty of Crowley’s abduction._

_A red mist swamped the angel once more. The same dark fury which had led him to this moment._

_He couldn’t think. Not properly. Not clearly._

_All that mattered was getting to Gabriel and finishing the job._

_And saving Crowley._

_Even if he had to fight all of Heaven to do it._

_Sword in hand and with no plan except to move as fast as he could and get to Gabriel before anyone stopped him, he raced for the escalators as swift as wings and rage could carry him._


	33. Chapter 30

Raphael explained the trial system to Crowley as they waited for it to begin. “This isn’t like a human trial where the witnesses are questioned publicly, and the evidence is debated over in court. Raguel has heard the testimonies already. She’ll present the evidence and stories on both sides as clearly as possible. Then the accused can speak if they wish to counter her assessment or add something they feel is important. The injured parties can weigh in if they feel they have anything valuable to contribute. After that Raguel will pronounce and carry out the judgment. And **She** ’s given opportunity to speak. If **She** chooses.”

Crowley looked around the court. Thousands of angels were seated in a half circle of sharply tiered seating around the room. Four demons sat together apart from the angels. Hastur and Marchosias were there, along with two high-ranking officials.

The demons were there to hear the judgment regarding _Project Trojan_. They were also there to escort Aziraphale to Hell for his second trial, should he be acquitted of Heaven’s charges. 

Crowley hugged his arms around his torso. It was right… wrong as it made him feel. He and Aziraphale had talked about it during the days leading up to the trial. Aziraphale wanted to face justice, badly as he knew it was sure to go for him. He’d killed, and all of Heaven needed to know that wasn’t acceptable. That the murder of a demon ought to be treated with the same outrage and disapproval as the murder of an angel.

In hindsight, Aziraphale worried what the bond would do to Crowley should Hell demand execution. Crowley flatly refused to consider that. They had one trial to worry about first. And he was much more concerned with Gabriel’s fate.

Crowley suspected the demons were there for him as well. He wondered what they’d do to him if he dared set foot out of Heaven. Nothing good, most likely.

The five accused were escorted to their seats at the front of the room. Gabriel and Michael sat on one end, Aziraphale on the other. Only Gabriel and Aziraphale were in shackles. The others had been deemed non-violent or unlikely to use powers. Gabriel looked as confident as ever. Michael and Aziraphale wore expressions closer to resignation. Only Hael appeared openly afraid.

The floor between audience and accused was a wide open space, punctuated by a ring of pale light which shone down from no visible source.

“That’s where **She** ’ll speak from. If **She** chooses to weigh in,” Raphael explained.

“Does **She** have much to say?” Crowley asked.

Raphael shook his head. “We hear from **Her** very rarely. But **She** ’s spoken once regarding this case already. There may be a chance.”

Crowley studied the Archangel, noticing the anxious longing in his face. The Creator didn’t speak much to any of **Her** children – Fallen or otherwise – these days. It must have been as hard, if not harder on the Unfallen. They still expected to be able to hear from **Her**. 

Raguel stepped to the front, commanding silence with her presence. Without prelude, she began.

She told the story of _Project Trojan_ from its earliest proposal and onward. She’d done her job thoroughly – interviewing everyone involved from those who’d participated in the early theorizing, to the technicians who’d built the collars. She revealed the project’s end goals – the total annihilation of Hell’s denizens and the potential of enslaving the survivors. She revealed the plans for the infiltration of Hell, the proposal to mass-produce the collars, the preparations for a preemptive strike. The deliberate decision to forgo agreed upon rules of conduct and morality concerns.

She moved on from the theoretical to what had actually transpired, producing documents aplenty to reveal Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship, and why the demon had been targeted.

She spoke of his captivity as it could be verified by multiple sources and records. The angels who’d attempted his early interrogation. The others who’d mutilated his wings. Those who’d viewed him regularly in the office. She moved on to Raphael’s assessment of Crowley’s compounded injuries – implying additional tortures which had occurred behind closed doors without mentioning what testimony Gabriel and Crowley had separately given. 

She produced the collar readouts, proving both the time manipulation and the excessive use of the collar’s higher settings. Though, Crowley thought, those numbers gave no information on their own. Except she could verify from Uriel’s testimony that the collar had been cranked up at least once to its highest settings with no provocation from the wearer. 

She moved on to Aziraphale’s attempts to locate and liberate Crowley, including the murder of one demon. His conspiring with Hastur (Raguel had interviewed demons with the same impartiality as angels), and Gabriel's with his contacts. Their showdown – coupled with Gabriel’s increasingly manic behavior and cruel conduct as witnessed first-hand by many in Heaven. Aziraphale's one-angel assault on Heaven which had discorporated several guards and injured multiple others. 

Raguel assessed the behavior of the accused and the witnesses over the course of the investigation. That Michael and Hael had cooperated from the start were points in their favor. That Aziraphale had been a model prisoner when turned over to Raphael’s custody was likewise commended. She spoke well of Crowley’s candid relating of his suffering and his verification of Aziraphale’s testimony of their relationship.

The accused were then allowed to speak.

Gabriel spoke well and confidently with the ease of someone who'd planned this moment for months and knew how to lead a crowd. He admitted he’d tampered with time in his enthusiasm to keep the project on track. He insisted the project was believed necessary, and he’d done all in service of Heaven. His speech was beautiful, really. Laying the blame for the project entirely on Michael. In his subtle version of events he’d carried out her orders with every step he took. If he was guilty, it was only of trying to be too much of a team player.

As for Crowley, Gabriel expertly played upon the prejudices of the crowd. There was a war coming which Heaven had to win for the good of creation. He’d only been following orders. Perhaps his methods seemed extreme, but that was what it had taken to subdue a dangerous opponent. 

Crowley squirmed to see many nodding along with Gabriel’s silky tone.

Then Michael spoke.

She was remorseful from the start. She desperately wanted to know where she’d gone wrong. She confessed to turning a blind eye to Gabriel’s doings. That she’d suspected rape and ignored it if it got her the results she wanted. She’d witnessed Crowley perform repeated acts of self-mutilation purely for the purpose of proving his brokenness. She saw too late how badly they’d fallen. How blind they’d been to their Creator’s true desires. She apologized to Crowley right there in court. That he’d been targeted purely for an act of love. That he’d been allowed to suffer without her doing anything to stop it. That Gabriel still claimed it was Crowley’s fault, yet she’d witnessed how helpless Gabriel had made him. He whom the Creator called **Her** child.

Gabriel looked ready to kill when she was done.

Hael began by apologizing to anyone and everyone immediately. Beginning with his Creator and rapidly extending to all of Hell. He had little to say in the way of evidence – only that he knew he was in the wrong and the court might do whatever they liked.

Remiel took a long pause, then said quietly that she’d allowed prejudices to lead her astray. She didn’t know if it was wrong to try and get an advantage over Hell in the coming war, but the Creator said it was, so she’d accept that judgment. She admitted she’d been governed by anger at individuals. She said she was trying to learn to judge the species not by those individuals. If the court pardoned her, she wanted to learn.

Aziraphale was not yet given opportunity to speak. His charges were considered separate from those of _Project Trojan_ and would be dealt with after the verdict of the other four.

Raguel took center stage again. “Archangel Gabriel, regarding charges of time manipulation, excessive and unlawful use of powers, excessive and unnecessary brutality including-”

“Now, wait,” Gabriel interrupted. “There was nothing excessive or unnecessary about it.”

The crowd murmured.

Crowley bit his lip. Was it possible Gabriel could talk his way out of this?

Raguel turned to him, unruffled by the interruption. “Please explain.”

“The goals of the project were clearly stated, and the methods were decided at the start. Everything I did was within the boundaries laid out in the guidelines.”

“Including rape?” Raguel asked.

Gabriel didn’t even blink. “The guidelines were quite lax provided the result of a properly tamed and compliant subject was reached. Everything I did was within those boundaries.” His expression turned pained. “We have since learned the project was not within the bounds of **Her** desire, but how were we to know at the time? Our goal from start to finish was the protection of Heaven. Who can fault us for our zeal?”

Raphael put a hand over Crowley’s. “Trust,” he whispered.

Crowley flashed him a tense look. He was struggling not to scream contradictions to Gabriel’s purring words. 

“So according to you,” Raguel said slowly. “Your every action was purely motivated toward the goal of harnessing the subject’s will and directing it toward the project’s long-term goals?”

“Exactly,” Gabriel nodded. “And those who saw the subject can attest to how effective the methods were in bringing it to heel.”

There was a low growl from the direction of the four demons.

Multiple angels eyed them with sudden alarm.

Gabriel looked smug.

“Then, I hope you’ll be willing to clear up a mystery.” With a wave of her hand, Raguel produced the collar data – blown up to a size large enough for the audience to view. “I’d like to direct everyone’s attention to this day.” She tapped a date at the top of one sheet in which the collar had been running a steady 02 for a long span, then spiked to an abrupt 08. “On this day, at Michael’s behest, the subject was tested on behavior and obedience. By the account of all four accused, the subject performed perfectly including…” She tapped the spike. “…deliberately cutting his own arm twice at Gabriel’s behest despite the consequence of extreme punishment by the collar.” Her eyes swept the audience. “The assessment by the committee was that the subject was fully compliant with his handler’s demands and fully prepared for the next phase of the project.” She turned to Gabriel for confirmation. “Is that correct?”

“…Yes,” the Archangel agreed reluctantly.

“The next day - less than 24 hours later - the subject again demonstrated his training, this time walking blindfolded through an obstacle course. He proved fully obedient to his handler’s commands, going as far as to walk into, and stand unmoving until ordered to exit, a pool of holy water.” Again, Raguel looked to Gabriel. “Correct?”

Many audience members glanced at Crowley with expressions of curiosity and pity.

Gabriel nodded reluctantly.

“The part which interests me is the time between the two tests.” Raguel brought up an extensive run of data for the audience to see – this one accented with frequent occasions in which the collar had risen to 05 or higher. “Due to time manipulation, there was a seven-week gap between the two tests for the subject and handler. During which time the collar was frequently set to punishment levels including here…” She tapped a data point. “…In which the collar was manually raised to 09 and left there for six hours.” She gave the audience a serious look. “That pain level is utterly excruciating and debilitating. It is also fatal after an unknown stretch of time.”

The audience murmured.

“You can’t know what it feels like,” Gabriel objected sharply.

“I can,” Raguel replied in her even cadence. With a wave of her hand, the hated collar appeared on the table in front of her. “I wished to know what Heaven had created. I’ve experienced the collar at every setting for ten-minute stretches.” Her face turned grave. “The tenth setting, I am informed, was designed to simulate the agony of Falling. Although I can’t compare the two, I will say it was the most agonizing ten minutes of my existence. And the 09 setting was little kinder.”

She took a breath, her schooled expression returning. “Obviously there are only two witnesses to what occurred during this stretch of time, and other similar instances. Perhaps, Gabriel, you could enlighten us why, if the goal of the project had been reached according to the assessment of the committee, the demon Crowley required another seven weeks of intensive ‘training’ before a second test.”

Gabriel eyed the data coldly, then turned fierce eyes on Raguel. “The committee saw only brief interactions. They don’t know what it was like the rest of the time. More training was necessary. Simple as that.”

“According to Crowley’s testimony, he was informed he’d failed Michael’s test, and the subsequent weeks were the resulting punishment.”

“What? No!” Michael gasped in surprise. “We were happy with the results.” She looked sickened, and her voice dropped to a murmur. “We shouldn’t have been.”

Hael nodded, looking entirely miserable. “That’s when we should have stopped… Since we failed to stop at the beginning.” He covered his eyes. “To think we thought self-mutilation was a good thing…”

Gabriel ignored them. “The demon is lying to gain your sympathy. That’s what it does. It’s a known tempter. Of course it knows how to paint its captivity in the worst light.”

Raguel nodded with understanding.

Gabriel visibly relaxed.

“Would you be willing to share memories to prove your testimony?” the angel of justice asked.

Crowley bit harder on his lip to hide his triumphant grin.

“What?!” Gabriel half recoiled from his chair.

“As you’ve noted, much of what occurred is only known to you and Crowley. The best way to have an objective view of what went on is to allow another to view it.” Raguel paused. “Perhaps you’re unaware of the concept. Memory-sharing is so rarely done in this age.”

“It’s unheard of!” Gabriel spat. “It’s a violation of basic rights. Seeing another’s thoughts like that. No one’s done that for thousands of years.”

“Crowley has.”

The audience erupted into whispers.

Raguel went on steadily. “It was his idea, in point of fact. He recognized that the word of a demon might amount to little against an Archangel in the eyes of Heaven. He thought the best proof of his honesty was to allow me to witness his suffering first-hand.”

“He could pick the instances out of context which were most likely to spin his claims,” Gabriel snapped.

“I considered that. Which is why I observed his memories of three separate occasions. One of his choosing and two of mine.” Her eyes bore into Gabriel. “He offered, of his own volition, to let me see anything I wished to prove his suffering.” 

She turned to the audience. “For those unaware, the memory-sharing process allows two subjects to witness the same memory at once. For the one initiating the sharing, it requires reliving the memory with all its sorrows or joys. For the other, it is an immersive experience in which they live the memory as if it was their own.” Her gaze turned to Gabriel. “Now I know how it feels to have blessed objects burned into my skin. To feel my wings stretched and burned to the point that I can only wish for death. To be raped while thinking only how much worse the suffering would be if I dared to cry out. And when I venture to ask why I am being punished in such a way, it is to be told my suffering is purely for my _master’s_ pleasure and no fault of mine.”

Crowley hid his face in Raphael’s shoulder. 

Raphael put an arm around him. “Do you want to leave?”

Crowley shook his head. 

The audience babbled around them. Raguel was silent. So was Gabriel.

Eventually the audience calmed. 

“This is a court of justice,” Raguel said, her voice once again steady and emotionless. “We hear both sides and make our judgment accordingly. So, Gabriel, do you wish to counter these memories with your own? Your testimony and Crowley’s match for the early stretch of his ‘training’. It is these later instances which interest me in which you claim further training was necessary, and he claims he was hurt purely for your pleasure. Perhaps you could show what went through your mind when you branded him as your personal property? Or why the severity of the punishments he received seemed necessary.” Crowley raised his head in time to see Raguel tap an 09 spike on the data readouts. “According to Crowley, this was a reprimand for passing out due to excessive blood loss. Would you like to dispute that?”

Gabriel opened and closed his mouth several times without uttering a sound. At last he sat back with an angry shake of his head.

Raguel waited, then turned to the audience with a nod. “Before we break to consider the verdict, we offer the victim a chance to speak.” Her roving eyes rested on the demon, her cold expression softening. “Crowley? Would you say anything of what you believe the accused deserve? If you have anything to say in their defense or condemnation, this is the time.”

Crowley pulled himself up with a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. He shivered as he looked at the four who’d stolen his security and his life. His eyes rested last on Gabriel.

The Archangel glared back with an absolutely murderous expression.

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, fighting to keep his mind in the present. The urge to kneel and beg his master’s forgiveness was strong. But so was the feeling of love and encouragement he could feel radiating off Aziraphale, and the steady presence of Raphael beside him.

“He’ll never stop,” he said quietly, his voice ringing in the silence of the court. He opened his eyes and focused on Raguel. “He liked it. Everything he did. If he can’t have me, he’ll find someone else. Just ask his assistant. Hurting me… it was making it easier for him to act worse to her. I saw him make her cry a lot. And he talked about wanting to do way worse.” 

He clamped down on his lip and closed his eyes. It wasn’t easy to stay upright with so many eyes on him. It did occur to him that he might better prove what Gabriel had done if he collapsed and began sobbing for his master to spare him. But he didn’t want to break in front of the denizens of Heaven and representatives of Hell.

“And if you were to choose his fate,” Raguel said quietly, “what would it be?”

Crowley swallowed hard. “Raphael let me think he was dead for months. If I’d known he was alive… I wouldn’t have left my cell. I wouldn’t have told what he did to me. But I… I had a long time of… believing he was gone. That I was safe.” He looked anxiously at Raguel. “That’s all I want. Him gone. So he can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

“And the others?”

Crowley glanced at the other three. None of them met his gaze. “They hurt me because they thought it didn’t matter. That I’m… we’re…” He nodded toward the other demons. “…nothing. But… **She** says we’re still **Her** children…”

He was interrupted by a murmur from the audience. He quivered and kept on. “S-so, if that’s true… maybe it’s time for all of this to stop. All of us hurting each other and saying the other side doesn’t matter. And… and if they’re willing to learn… to see if that’s true… then they should have the opportunity. We all should.” 

He sat down quickly, his face burning. He wished he could hide under Aziraphale’s wings. 

Raguel asked if anyone else had anything to say. 

**_“I think Crowley summed everything up nicely.”_**


	34. Chapter 31

Aziraphale hadn’t enjoyed sitting in front of so many staring eyes. Most of them weren’t directed at him, but he saw enough study him while whispering to their neighbors to feel his temper beginning to steam. _Stay calm_ , he coached himself. It wouldn’t do any good. And he didn’t want any anger on his part of upset Crowley.

He kept his attention focused on where his love sat, tense and nervous. He tried to send out calming thoughts of assurance and love while the story was told, and even more when Gabriel began to speak. Concentrating on that helped him resist imagining decapitating the Archangel.

 _You’re doing beautifully_ , he wanted to cheer as Crowley spoke. He resisted sending the message, not wanting anyone in the room to think he was prompting Crowley’s speech. He simply focused on the emotions. 

“Thank you, Crowley,” Raguel said as the demon hunched in his chair. “Does anyone else have anything to say?”

There was silence in the room as the angels looked at once another.

_**“I think Crowley summed everything up nicely.”** _

The crowd surged to its feet with cries of surprise as the circle of light began to glow brighter. Raggedly – as if they were terribly out of practice, the assembled went to their knees. 

Even the demons, Aziraphale noticed. And none of them looked the least self-conscious about this show of fear and, perhaps, devotion. 

_**“Is it my turn to address the assembled, Raguel?”**_ the voice from the circle asked, sounding rather amused about the stir they’d caused.

Raguel had knelt with everyone else. The grave expression was gone in favor of a look of barely suppressed joy. “The floor is always yours, Lord,” she said quickly, managing to keep some level of control on her voice.

 _ **“How nice.”**_ There was a pause. Then – _**“I wish to speak with my Fallen children. Will you approach?”**_

The angels whispered their surprise and the demons recoiled uneasily. Except one.

Crowley rose with the heavy aid of a chair. His eyes were downcast, and his steps were hesitant, but he made his way toward the front of the room.

 _Any why not?_ Aziraphale though with a flicker of approval and bitterness. _Hadn’t Crowley been trained rather effectively to work through fear?_

To his surprise, he saw first Marchosias, then Hastur, rise and trail after Crowley. A beat later, the two princes found their feet, looking more as if they’d rather not be outdone by their inferiors than any willingness to approach the Creator they’d scorned.

Crowley reached the circle and started to sink to his knees.

 ** _“No need, my child,”_** the voice said gently. _**“Will you come within and speak with me? All of you.”**_

Crowley shivered and looked back at the other demons. He gave a small nod to them and turned briefly to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. _I love you,_ he whispered across the dividing space. Then, he stepped into the light. 

The demons paused a long and wary moment, but Crowley was clearly still alive within the ring. Cautiously, the four passed into the light.

All five knelt, although Crowley quickly resumed standing. Nervous eyes turned to look into the light above them, even as the group bunched together. 

Whatever was said was for their ears alone, though every angel in the room strained forward hopefully.

After a moment, four demons exited the ring.

Hastur looked back at Crowley, then to Raguel. He licked his lips and spoke in a dazed voice. “ **She** … **She** wants another minute with him.” The demons stumbled back to their seats, looking blinded and bewildered.

Crowley stood alone, his head thrown back, his hands clenched into fists. It was brutally apparent he was shouting into the light with ferocity enough to make many of the assembled angels whimper with unease. But no smiting occurred, even if the light did intensify, cocooning around the demon in a protective embrace. 

At last the light dimmed a little and Crowley stepped out. His face was silent, his steps sure. He went at once to Aziraphale. Dropping to the ground, he butted his head beneath the kneeling angel’s chin.

Aziraphale couldn’t wrap his shackled arms around his love, so he put out his wings. Crowley’s mumble of approval made him certain he’d done exactly the right thing.

**_“Raguel, a word if you please.”_ **

The Archangel found her feet and stepped into the ring. Several minutes passed before Raguel returned. Her steps were slow and a little sad. She stepped aside and took up a waiting stance.

 ** _“Children,”_** the voice said gently. **_“All of you. You have my love always. But I weep at what you do to each other. Learn love, children. You’ll see your way through the darkness if you do.”_**

The light vanished.

The angels rose slowly, whispering to one another. Many glanced at Crowley, still shielded beneath Aziraphale’s wings. 

“We can get up now,” Aziraphale whispered.

“I want to stay here,” Crowley mumbled.

“Alright, but everyone’s staring.”

“Let them.” Crowley moved to sit beside Aziraphale, resting his head against the angel's shoulder.

Aziraphale shifted off his knees and leaned against his chair. He wrapped his wings a little tighter around the demon. 

Raguel gave the assembled a moment to breathe before she spoke. “The verdict has been reached. Gabriel. Come forward.”

The Archangel remained perfectly still for several seconds.

“He needs more training,” Crowley muttered.

Aziraphale squeezed him. “Hush, love.”

Gabriel rose at last and made his way cautiously to Raguel. He squared his shoulders and stood a little taller.

The angel of justice surveyed him with an emotionless expression. “Kneel for the Lord’s judgment.”

Gabriel’s gaze hardened. He gritted his teeth and at last lowered himself to his knees.

“He doesn’t look afraid,” Aziraphale murmured.

“ **She** said to love,” Crowley observed, lifting his head away from Aziraphale’s shoulder. “He thinks he’s safe.”

“Our Creator has looked into your heart,” Raguel said softly. “ **She** has seen your true self. You have engaged in cruelty against **Her** children. You have reveled in the pain you’ve caused and sought reasons to deliver more. You have abused powers for your own gain and abused **Her** child for your own pleasure. You hold no remorse in your heart.”

Gabriel made a sound of protest, but seemed struck dumb almost as quickly as the noise left his lips.

“You are not fit to lead. Nor would sending you away end your cruelty. You take too much pleasure in the suffering of others.”

Raguel looked regretful as she cupped her hands to Gabriel’s face. “This is the will of **She** who formed us all.” 

She kissed his forehead.

And the Archangel Gabriel was no more.

There was no dust. No shower of light or darkness. No cry of pain. Just a breath of wind. Raguel stood alone, her hands falling limply to her sides.

It was a breathless moment of sheer power. This swift unmaking as if he’d never been.

The silence was that of an entire realm holding itself still.

Crowley buried his head in Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale felt a rush of anger that it should be over so quickly. That Gabriel had not suffered as he’d made Crowley for so long. But from the demon Aziraphale felt relief and sorrow.

 _Why are you sad, my dear?_ he asked.

 _ **She** didn’t want it,_ Crowley replied. _**She** made all of us. **She** never wants to unmake us. **She** saw he couldn’t change from what he’d become. But **She** still weeps for him._

Aziraphale noticed many in the room had begun to cry. Perhaps with the same understanding Crowley showed. Or perhaps fear of what was in their own hearts. 

Raguel let the mourning go on for several minutes. Then she raised her bowed head. “Michael. Come forward.”

With tears in her eyes, Michael rose shakily to her feet and stepped forward to kneel for the Creator’s justice.

There were no further deaths. The others had shown remorse and willingness to change their thinking. That was what their Creator asked of them.

They received demotions or probationary standings. Their punishments were to undo the harm they'd caused. To eliminate all traces of the terrible project and to declare their recognition of its immorality to one and all.

Aziraphale longed to see every angel who'd taken advantage of Crowley's helplessness made to pay. He wished for all who'd turned a blind eye to his suffering to feel how that felt. But vengeance was not the solution for change. He reluctantly pushed aside his bloodthirsty thoughts and concentrated on the simple aura of relief emanating from the demon in his arms. Crowley's suffering was over at last. That was what mattered.

He thought the other demons would cry out for harsher sentences, but they listened in silence. Perhaps they'd known Heaven would never turn over an Archangel to their mercies. Perhaps they were willing to accept the matter as concluded with the project terminated and Gabriel eliminated. Perhaps the Creator had said something of this nature to them already. Whatever the reason, they watched the sentencing without interruption.

It was time at last for Aziraphale’s charges to be heard and judged. Crowley reluctantly allowed Aziraphale to return to his seat. Even more reluctantly, the demon returned to Raphael.

“Aziraphale, your story has been told. Do you have anything to say in your defense?” Raguel asked.

The principality studied his chains. “I’m on trial in Heaven for attempting to murder an Archangel and attacking Heaven’s guards in hopes of reaching him and finishing the job.” He considered a moment. “I suppose I’m also on trial for falling in love with a demon. So… I should answer all three charges.”

He lifted his head and stared defiantly at the audience. “I don’t regret loving Crowley. Not for a single instant. I regret not realizing I was in love sooner. I regret being so quick to hide it away. But I know our love is pure and honest and _right_. There was no coercion. No tempting. No attempts at manipulation. We love one another and we have declared ourselves one in the eyes of our Creator. I’ll never deny that love again.

“I don’t regret my attempt to kill Gabriel.” His hands clenched into fists. “I knew he was harming Crowley even if I didn’t know then the scope of his depravity. I believed he would harm me as well. I saw no recourse to protecting my love besides eliminating his abuser.”

He took a breath. “My assault upon Heaven was an act of rage. It was wrong and ill-planned. It had no chance of succeeding and only put me at odds with the guards. I never should have tried. Rage… is something new to me. I didn’t know I was capable of such fury. Now I do… and I need to learn how to not let it consume me. I am sorry to those I hurt. None of you were at fault. To harm my fellows when my real target was out of reach was wrong. I’m sorry. I deserve punishment for that.

“But… those aren’t my real crime.” He looked at Raguel. “My true crime was against Hell. I murdered to protect a secret. I killed because I believed the one I killed didn’t matter. That he was unimportant.” His face contracted with pain. “I would have discarded the allies I’d made to help me fight Gabriel just as quickly. And that’s what I truly regret. Treating our Creator’s Fallen children with the same callousness as Gabriel and his allies. I deserve to be punished for this offense. 

“I would ask to be released from Heaven’s charges against me so that I might turn myself over to Hell’s judgment.” He looked steadily at the demons. “I know that’s why they’re here. I’m prepared to go with them and face their judgment.” He lowered his eyes. “That is all.”

The crowd whispered together.

Raguel asked the guards Aziraphale had assaulted if they had anything to say.

Several shook their heads. One mumbled, “No harm done.” Another said, “I’d have done the same.”

Raguel turned to the demons. “Hastur? Marchosias? Would you speak to the court?”

The demons whispered together. Hastur spoke for the group. “Aziraphale already said it all. We want him.”

The audience murmured angrily.

Hastur's lips curled back in a snarl. “You’d be saying the same if we killed one of yours. So, pipe down! If **She** says we’re the same, that means our rights get to matter too. Get it?”

The crowd’s mutterings fell to a thoughtful whisper.

“If that is all,” Raguel said, “Aziraphale, step forward.”

Aziraphale glanced briefly to Crowley as he rose. He felt a rush of love and assurance from the demon. He sent it back as best he could.

He knelt and bowed his head.

“Regarding your affair with the demon Crowley,” Raguel began. “It seems that is no longer a crime. If it ever was. Those accusations are dropped. Regarding the attempted murder of an Archangel, this has been deemed self-defense and in justified defense of a loved one. These charges are likewise dropped.”

There were several murmurs from the audience. Some sounded like approval.

“Regarding the assault upon Heaven… that is still reprehensible. Your field agent status is hereby revoked. Your legion command status is likewise removed. Your weapon has been confiscated and will not be returned. 

“As you have stated, your true crime is against a citizen of Hell. You will be handed over to their representatives and taken to stand trial. If you are acquitted in Hell, you will be returned to Heaven for a labor sentence of two decades following which you may petition for the return of your field agent status.”

There was a pause.

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “Thank you. Blessed be the justice of the Lord.”

*****

“I wish you would stay here,” Aziraphale murmured into the hair of the demon whose arms were clasped securely around him.

“Too bad, Angel. Where one of us goes, the other follows.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested the ritual,” Aziraphale fretted. “If they choose execution, what will that do to you?”

Crowley butted his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Doesn’t matter. I’d lose a piece of myself even without it.” His amber eyes bored fiercely into Aziraphale’s. “But that’s not going to happen.”

“You seem different,” Aziraphale observed.

Crowley smiled. He couldn’t banish the feeling of peace and security warming his soul, nor did he want to. “I am. We’re going to be okay, Angel. I’m sure of it now.”

Aziraphale searched his face questioningly. “Did **She** tell you what will happen?”

Crowley laughed. “It’s not like that. Free will. For all of us. Everyone has choices to make.” His thoughts briefly darkened. “No matter how far they are from what **She** wants.”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand and brought him back to the moment.

Crowley kissed him. “But I think we’re going to be okay.”

“I don’t want **Her** getting me out of this, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted. “I killed someone. Heaven needs to know that’s not acceptable, and Hell needs to know we’ll take responsibility for our actions.”

“Don’t talk like that until you hear Hell’s punishment for murder,” Hastur drawled as he walked up. “If you two are done making the rest of us nauseous, it’s time to go.”

Crowley glanced across the room, then back at Hastur. “One more minute?” he asked.

The demon eyed Crowley with a look of barely suppressed fear. All four demons had looked that way ever since **She** had spoken to them. 

Hastur nodded jerkily.

Crowley hurried over to Raphael. He opened his mouth, then fell silent, his eyes dropping to the ground with a sudden flood of shyness.

“I’d tell you to be careful and stay safe,” the Archangel said, “but I think you have higher protection than me.”

Crowley looked up, reading the sorrow in Raphael’s eyes. “ **She** ’s not silent because you did something wrong,” he said. “ **She** can’t say much without changing things.”

Raphael nodded. “ **She** told you some things,” he observed.

Crowley nodded, his puzzled frown deepening. “I don’t understand most of it,” he confessed. “ **She** said a lot that didn’t make sense… But **She** did say I’m forgiven. And… loved.”

The Archangel smiled. “I never had any doubt.”

Crowley smiled tentatively. “Can I… I don’t know what will happen in Hell… But if I get out of there eventually… can I come back?”

Raphael rested a hand on his shoulder. “My home is always yours.”

Crowley grinned and squeezed Raphael’s wrist. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. For Aziraphale too.”

“Thank you for all you’ve taught me.”

Crowley nodded bashfully and turned away.

“I’m proud of you,” he heard Raphael murmur.

Crowley glanced back with an awkward smile, then hurried to Aziraphale’s side.

*****

It was a strange thing to be leaving Heaven at last. And not Falling this time. Actually taking the stairs down, and then down again. 

Crowley couldn’t shake the prickle of terror washing down his spine that Gabriel would pounce before he actually set foot on Earth.

Then they were Below.

They walked to the room of justice, Crowley and Aziraphale hand in hand. 

The denizens of Hell swarmed around them. They snarled hatred at the angel and cast scorn on the demon. Crowley barely heard them.

They might have come to real harm, but the demons who’d accompanied them from Heaven closed around them, and the princes shouted for multiple guards to join the party, ordering them to keep the prisoner from harm (and that did _not_ mean they could cause harm themselves).

They entered the room of justice where Beelzebub sat upon their throne. The four demons stepped forward to stand beside them.

The pursuing crowd found spaces against the wall on every side, cramming three and four deep in a snarling ring.

Aziraphale stood before the throne, his eyes downcast and respectful. 

Crowley didn’t let go of his hand.

“Step away, serpent,” Beelzebub buzzed. “The enemy faces his accusers alone.”

Crowley studied them for a long moment, then sat down exactly where he was. He gave Beelzebub a small smile, then let his eyes rove absently elsewhere. He didn’t think they’d try to move him.

He was correct. Beelzebub gave a small hiss, then launched into the charges.

The charge, simply, was the crime of being an angel. The condemnation of the species as a whole was heaped upon Aziraphale, along with insults and threats aplenty. The crowd cheered a great deal, having to be silenced a dozen times over before Beelzebub reached the actual charge of murder.

“How do you plead?” Beelzebub demanded at last.

Aziraphale took a breath. “I’m guilty of murder,” he admitted. “I’m not sure about the rest of it.”

The crowd roared until Aziraphale looked as if he’d drop from deafness.

Somehow Beelzebub regained order. “If that’s the case, we can get on to sentencing,” they said, looking with puzzlement at the angel.

“Wait,” Hastur said abruptly, stepping forward to the surprise of the crowd. “There’s more to say.” 

Beelzebub acknowledged him with a mystified gesture.

Hastur looked back at the demons with him, then spoke reluctantly. “ **She** spoke. At Heaven’s trial.”

The crowd broke into loud mutterings – some angry, some wistful.

“It would be expected among those **She** still acknowledges,” Beelzebub droned bitterly.

“No,” Hastur clarified. “ **She** spoke to _us_.”

The room erupted.

“In defense of the angel?” Beelzebub asked scornfully.

“ **She** didn’t say a thing about him,” Hastur replied. “Just about us.” He looked back at the others, his face reddening and growing helpless.

Crowley spoke up, his voice firm and ringing. “ **She** called us **Her** children. **She** said…” He had to stop as the room erupted once more. He raised his voice and shouted over them as soon as the dissonance had dwindled a fraction. “ **She** said **She** ’s never stopped loving us. That **She** never meant for **Her** children to be at odds…”

The volume rose to shouting.

“He’s telling the truth!” Hastur bellowed as Beelzebub threatened the crowd back to order. “And everyone saw **Her** … _welcome us._ ” His expression shifted to one of wonder and fear. “ **She** never threw us away. That’s what **She** said. We could still… hear **Her** again.”

The crowd went silent.

“They don’t hear from **Her** much either,” Marchosias added. “All of this – us and them fighting all these years – it’s been us and them coming up with it. Not **Her** telling them to.” His eyes focused on Crowley. “ **She** told him more than the rest of us.”

Crowley ducked his head, not liking so many eyes fixed on him. He leaned for a moment against Aziraphale’s leg, feeling the warmth and assurance radiating from his beloved. He rose to his feet and forced his gaze to sweep the crowd. “ **She** has plans,” he said carefully. “But **She** gave all of us freedom to choose our way. It’s our right. Same as theirs. **She** won’t force any of us. But… but **She** saw that they’d gone so far astray that **She** had to act. To protect _us_.”

The crowd murmured. The note of awe overwhelmed the disbelief.

“I don’t know what happens next,” Crowley went on. “But Heaven knows they’ve acted against **Her** will. They’re going to spend a while figuring things out now. And so should we.”

“You have no authority here,” Beelzebub growled.

One of the princes who’d witnessed the trial stepped forward. “He’s right,” they said firmly. “Everything just changed. The council needs to meet and discuss where we go from here.”

The lord-of-the-flies sneered. “And what does any of this have to do with _this_ trial? Are you saying we should just let the angel go?”

“No.” It was Aziraphale who spoke. 

All eyes snapped to him.

The angel spoke as steadily as he could. “I murdered one of your own. I did it thinking I was… protecting myself. And Crowley. But really… because I thought it didn’t matter.” He bowed his head to the hisses of the crowd.

“Shut up and let him talk!” snarled Hastur.

Aziraphale shot him a surprised look, then continued on. “It’s taken me a long time to see my actions were wrong. That what I did was a crime, and that I should answer for it. Both because I deserve to be punished, and because Heaven should know killing one of yours is the same as killing one of ours.”

The crowd whispered their surprise.

Crowley slipped his hand into Aziraphale’s and squeezed gently.

“I’d beg for my life,” the angel went on despite a tremor in his voice. “But I don’t have that right. Not when I wouldn’t listen to another’s pleading for mercy. But… if I do live… survive whatever punishment you choose… I swear I’ll spend the rest of my days trying to make Heaven understand what we should have known long ago. That life _matters_. Your lives as much as ours. That we can’t dismiss and despise you for something from so long ago. We were one once. It’s time to try and bridge our divide.” He gripped Crowley’s hand tighter. “It’s not impossible. And I believe… I know… it’s what **She** wants.”

Eventually the murmurs died enough for Beelzebub to regain order. They asked the crowd how they voted. The angel was guilty by his own admission. What was his fate?

There were plenty who demanded blood. But there were many more who called for restraint. In the end, the cries for a more hopeful future outweighed the desire to cling to hate.


	35. Art and Comics

I had some computer trouble this week, so the art is arriving a day late and not in huge quantities. If I get more fan art, or decide to draw more comics, this is where it will be added, so check back!

* * *

I thought I'd take a moment to address some character questions I've gotten which won't be addressed in the final chapter.

**Lucifer:** Several people asked how the devil feels about everything going on. Answer is, I don’t know. I wrote _Reparations_ with parallel points to _Repossession_ , and Lucifer only gets mentioned there once. After writing extensively about the devil over in _Serpent Delivery/Beginning of Eternity_ , I wasn’t interested in writing a second version (writing two very different versions of Aziraphale and Gabriel at the same time was tough enough). From the start I knew Lucifer would be Sir-Not-Appearing-In-This-Story. So, where is he? Off looking for Ms. Right to be mommy to the antichrist? Ignoring the day-to-day nonsense of ruling Hell? Negotiating with other Archangels for Heaven and Hell’s future? There are possibilities aplenty depending on whether you think he’s a good or bad ruler. Either way, Beelzebub is being left in charge of minor decisions – like executing angels.

* * *

**Gabriel’s Demon Contact:** In _Repossession_ , Gabriel has a demon contact who has been selling him information from Hell for years. That’s how he gets Crowley’s records and the hellfire. Gabriel murders him near the end of the story. Here, the demon was tracked down early on. When Hastur discovered Crowley’s file was missing, Marchosias figured out who had access and figured out who had been selling Hell’s secrets to Heaven. The demon is currently in Hell’s jail enduring their ‘feelings’ about his betrayal. He’ll live, unlike in Repo, but he’ll be in Hell’s bad books for many centuries.

* * *

**Uriel:** I was surprised in how many people took an interest in Uriel. In my mind, she was just a representative of all the angels who saw what was happening to Crowley and chose to look the other way. But a lot of people wanted to know what happened to Uriel. So, here’s her story arc as I imagined it.

Uriel had had very little contact or dealings with demons. She’d spent most of her existence running thing in Heaven and fully accepted Heaven’s stated beliefs about demon’s behavior and inherent brutality. Her beliefs were mostly surface-level since she hadn’t had reason to develop personal feelings for any demons.

She was bothered by Crowley’s injuries and expressed her concern that he wasn’t being treated with basic decency. Gabriel easily played on her prejudices and assured her the injuries were necessary and Crowley’s fault. She accepted that he knew more than she did regarding God’s plan.

Since she worked closely with Gabriel and had known him a long time, she could see that something was wrong. Her offers to help were entirely for Gabriel’s benefit. When she learned that Gabriel had gone crazy and gone against God’s will, she was stunned and also ashamed. She thought if she’d acted sooner, she could have saved him. With Gabriel and Michael locked up, she took a much more active role in leading Heaven, and learned more about Project Trojan in the process. Her original feelings resurfaced and grew stronger now that she didn’t have Gabriel encouraging her to think otherwise. She became ashamed of ever agreeing with Gabriel, although her first reaction to this guilt was to lie to Raguel that she knew anything about the project. But once confronted directly about what she’d seen, she admitted everything Gabriel had told her and her failure to respond.

As things reshuffled due to Gabriel and Michael’s absence, Uriel found herself in a position of power. She handled this with far more humility than Gabriel and Michael had since she had their bad examples of how wrong an Archangel could go if they assumed themselves to be too righteousness. 

So, in answer to the many questions, no Uriel was never punished for her inaction. Within her own mind she always harbored guilt for not helping Crowley and the lingering belief that she could have saved Gabriel if she’d acted sooner. That guilt motivated her to become a far better and more assertive angel than she was before. So, despite no formal punishment, she certainly learned from the experience.

* * *

**Raphael & Raguel’s POV Chapters:** I’ve been asked about these, and talked about them for a while. Here’s the deal.

When I originally conceived this story, it was with the idea that the chapters would alternate between Crowley’s POV and Raphael and Raguel's investigation. I scrapped this idea because I liked the ambiguity of Raphael’s motives early on. But the result was I had all this additional information which we never saw in the story.

I started cleaning up what I’d written with the idea of releasing it as supplemental material. But the story had changed a lot, so the original drafts needed more work than I expected. The past month has afforded plenty of free time, so I've been trying to work on them. Here’s the thing… It turns out writing from the perspective of a celestial healer in _the middle of a global pandemic_ is not mentally healthy. I have tried, and spent far more time yelling at a fictional character than any sane person should do. 

So, I’ll happily keep answering questions about what Raguel and Raphael were up to in the comments. That’s never been a problem. But I think the hopes of seeing their chapters anytime soon is unlikely. Not impossible. But please don’t keep your hopes up about seeing them.

In answer to a reoccurring question about Raphael’s motives, yes, he is struggling with prejudices in his early interactions with Crowley. Raphael is only mentioned twice in classical literature – the _Book of Enoch_ and the _Book of Tobit_. In both of those, he’s seen battling demons right alongside the other Archangels. Taking those as canon, yes, Raphael has reasons to be distrustful of a demon. But he’s been summoned by God so he’s willing to take care of his new patient. It takes a few days for his mindset to shift from, ‘I’m treating a demon’, to, ‘I’m treating a trauma victim’. But once it does, he is fully committed to helping Crowley as an individual and someone with the rights to be safe, healed, and valued. Crowley unknowingly helps with this a lot. His memories of Earth tell Raphael a great deal about what Crowley values, and it’s not what he’s expecting to hear from a demon. 

As for Raguel, I imagine she has less prejudices to work through. She believes in cold, hard facts. She has no trouble judging individuals as individuals, so she can believe _this_ demon is good, and _that_ demon is bad without it clouding her view of the species. She isn’t necessarily kind – she would have forced Crowley to reveal much more than he was prepared to share in the interest in finding the truth if she’d been allowed to interrogate him at the beginning – but her soul is fully committed to justice. That might make her appear colder and more callous than one might hope, but she does have a heart, as we saw in flickers throughout the story.

So, there's a little new information for you for this off day.

* * *

**Fan Art**

**Raguel Sketches**  
By [karuvapatta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta)  
Some wonderful sketches of Raguel! Scales, sigil, and lions. It's perfect for her.

**Crowley and Raphael Talk**  
By [ColorfulFlowersToo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulFlowersToo/pseuds/ColorfulFlowersToo)  
[Original Post](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307325/chapters/56366041)  
A great sketch of Crowley and Raphael having one of their many conversations. So lovely!

* * *

**Comics**

**Adventures of Snake!Crowley and Reluctant!Gabriel**

**Chapter 8: Slippery Serpents**

**Chapter 9: Snuggles**

And that concludes my silly little side comics. They were a fun break from the tragedy of the story. I hope you guys enjoyed the occasional distraction!


	36. Chapter 32

“Ten years heavy labor,” Crowley said. He was seated on the balcony rail, Raphael leaning beside him.

“That sounds like a short sentence considering the crime,” the Archangel replied.

“You’ve never seen Hell’s version of heavy labor,” Crowley replied. “They won’t make it easy for him to survive.” His face turned fierce. “But he will. There are enough who think it’s important that he does. And I can see him every week. They’re kind of afraid of me at the moment. That’ll help.”

“Then two decades of menial labor here if he makes it out of Hell,” Raphael observed. “What will you do while he’s away?”

Crowley studied the sky. “I sold my flat. Put the car in storage. Shut up the bookshop. I’ll have to go back once in a while to make sure it’s safe. I wouldn’t want Aziraphale’s collection eaten by mice or something.” He sighed. “I thought about just staying there for a while… but it doesn’t feel right without him.”

He pulled his legs tight against his chest. “Everyone keeps asking me things. About what happened. About what **She** said.”

“You don’t have to tell anyone anything,” Raphael said gently.

“But I want to… Not everything. But I need to make sure this never happens again.” Crowley shuddered. “It’s a lot. And so much… makes me remember.”

Raphael rested a hand on the demon’s foot. “You’re welcome here anytime.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re not. You never could be.”

Crowley studied him. “How do you do it? Take on another’s pain?”

Raphael sighed and bowed his head. “Not easily,” he admitted. “It’s simple to heal cuts and bruises. But real pain… lingering pain…”

Crowley covered Raphael’s hand with his own. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Raphael forced a smile. “Thank _you_ ,” he corrected. “You woke me up. Reminded me of my real purpose.” His eyes returned to the horizon. “I suppose I’ll be busier from now on.”

“If you ever want to talk about it…” Crowley offered.

Raphael flashed him a more genuine, albeit sorrowful, smile. “Thank you.”

*****

“I brought you someone.”

Crowley crouched down beside the bush. Its petals were no longer monotone white. Its limbs no longer drooped. Even if it still didn’t quite know its purpose or identity, it was exploring extensively to find itself.

Crowley set a planter beside it. The bush reached out a tentative leaf to brush the small and spiky aloe plant.

The aloe plant looked much improved from its ordeal. Aziraphale’s well-meaning but inept care hadn’t improved it as much as that of a knowledgeable plant-enthusiast. Aziraphale’s willingness to hand over its care to someone who knew better than he had probably saved its life.

Crowley picked up a trowel and began to dig. “I think you’ll be happy here,” he told the aloe. “This is a quiet place. A safe place. And you’ll have good company.”

Growing in the garden ever after was a little aloe plant which had one once seen hardship that had nearly ended its life. And in a protective ring around it grew a bush which had never been allowed to find a purpose. 

Together, they thrived.

*****

“This is the last of them.”

Crowley eyed the collar lying on Raguel’s desk. 

Beside him, Marchosias – Raguel’s Hell counterpart – sniffed the collar briefly, his hackles rising with disgust. “You’re certain?”

“I’ve tracked down every document – official and unofficial. They’re all burned. The prototypes are all destroyed. Every computer link to them, every program – all erased. Every technician has sworn to never reveal anything they learned in the creation process. I kept this one for the trial.” Raguel pushed it across the desk to Marchosias. “I swear we’ve eliminated everything related to them, and Heaven vows will never pursue this kind of experimenting again.” Her eyes met Crowley’s. “I swear it.”

He nodded, swallowing hard.

Marchosias took the collar in his jaws and crushed down. He bit through the metal a half dozen times, then dropped it to the ground and spat a spray of flames over it. The shattered pieces melted beneath the onslaught.

Crowley wrapped his arms around his stomach and shuddered with encroaching memories.

The wolf-demon looked up at last – once he’d stamped out the flames and ground the remains to fragments. “As promised, Hell agrees not to attempt to duplicate the process.”

Raguel came around the desk and held out her hand to the wolf-demon. “I hope we can coordinate together in the future.”

Marchosias put his paw into her palm. “Maybe.” His nose twitched. “There’s change in the air.”

“I hope so.”

*****

Two demons stepped off the escalator and into Heaven under the stunned gaze of the Heavenly host. But the demon in the lead wore the sigils of two Archangels, and no one dared halt him from anywhere he went. He walked calmly beneath their stares as if they didn’t worry him at all.

The demon on his heels was far more ill at ease. Her hair hung in thick, wormy strands over her face, and she glared defiantly back at the staring angels from behind the veil.

They entered the hospital wing without anyone stopping them and didn’t pause until a shout of outrage met their ears.

“Rugziel!” The warrior angel half rose from his prone position, glaring at the demon with eyes ablaze. “So, you’ve come to finish me off at last! It won’t work! I’m not as far gone as you think!”

The demon startled, her eyes widening at the sight, then she surged forward, her voice blazing with equal rancor. “ _You coward!_ Hiding here all these years! You knew I’d destroy you if you stayed down there any longer. So, you came crawling back here like a pathetic, weakling kitten!”

“Weakling?!” Adabiel actually sat all the way up in bed – probably for the first time in a century. “I could smite you with a single thought, you devious, conniving…”

Healers began arriving in breathless anxiety, but Crowley steered them away with a reassuring murmur. He slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him and standing as a quiet and non-threatening guard against all intruders.

Demon and warrior angel could be heard screaming at one another for a long time after. Never came a sound of blows or cries of pain. Eventually the voices stilled to a murmur, then silence. 

Crowley shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away.

*****

When visiting hours ended, no one had the nerve to make Rugziel leave, not with her snarling at any who tentatively suggested it, and not with Adabiel insisting she was a dangerous entity who couldn’t be allowed out of his sight.

She stayed in the room for two days.

When she left, she took Adabiel with her. 

The angel’s injuries were the inevitably fatal sort – not every wound having a cure, even with the combined efforts of Heaven and Hell seeking one. But his remaining centuries were spent in Rugziel’s home. And when his doctors visited, they were amazed to see the inexplicable improvement the change in location and circumstance had done for him.

The old warrior spent his remaining days regaling young demons with tales of when the Earth was young and the heat of battle pulsed in his heart. Of a steadfast soldier and a fierce opponent who could never overcome the other. He drilled them in swordsmanship, though none of them would ever wield their weapons against an angelic opponent. Someday, some of them would stand beside their unfallen counterparts and put their swords to the use of defending the downtrodden. 

As for the angel and demon who’d been enemies so long they couldn’t remember what that meant, what went on behind closed doors was really no one’s business but their own. If their skin was marked in mutual bond, only the Creator knew. If they merely existed in platonic affection, that was their choice as well. 

But none could deny that they were a whole in one another’s company. 

And none would break that bond.

*****

“Raphael!” 

The Archangel turned from assessing the hospital's supplies with an affectionate smile. The look died at the look of alarm on Crowley’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“An accident,” the demon panted, his wings quivering with urgency. “Will you come?”

It was a matter of moments to seize the tools of his trade and follow.

Raphael hesitated when Crowley made for the stairs leading Down, but he steeled his nerves and followed his friend into a place from which he’d felt so much suffering but never dared descend. 

Accident didn’t begin to describe the toppled and ablaze building, the screams of the demons still trapped inside. Healers were already at work on the wounded, but Raphael saw at a glance that there were injuries here which few besides himself could handle. He stepped forward, drawn to the worst of the pain.

Several demons hissed and tried to block him from the injured, but Crowley snapped a curt explanation, and the demons retreated.

Raphael worked until his strength was sapped. He didn’t know whose hands at last drew him from his labor and led him away. He didn’t know where he was laid to rest. 

But he believed those who murmured their thanks and assured him he was safe to sleep in Hell.

*****

“We want to speak to you before you see him,” Beelzebub said, stepping into Crowley’s path and drawing him away from his desire to reach Aziraphale for their weekly visit.

Crowley reluctantly stepped into a room with several high-ranking demons.

Nine years, eleven months, four days. Crowley had counted. He’d never missed a visit, savoring every moment with Aziraphale and promising his unfailing return.

Amazingly, impossibly, Aziraphale was doing very well. The first few years had been back-breaking labor, but the demons had hesitated to do their worst. And they’d talked with him – awed by an angel who would willingly surrender to Hell’s justice. Who’d fought Heaven to protect a demon. Who wore proof on his skin that the Creator saw no difference between Fallen and Unfallen.

When they’d found his skill ran toward the literary, they’d moved him to office work, and then to the library. In Hell, where some of the books were as violent and the denizens, and some held curses which might have been fatal to an angel at merest touch, it wasn’t a privilege or pleasant position. Many thought the library would be the angel’s demise. If the books didn’t get him, some creature or other which had taken up residence in the library’s shadows was sure to consider him a snack. 

Instead, visitors to the library were greeted with an increasingly clean and organized space, and an amiably smiling angel (often sporting bandaged hands from trying to keep the books in line) who proved very skilled at finding the most obscure volumes and very eager to talk with anyone with literary queries.

Aziraphale was thrilled with the collection. Sometimes when Crowley arrived, Aziraphale would launch into a thirty- or forty-minute description of the latest tome he’d found, breaking off after a lengthy monologue to belatedly say, “I’m so happy to see you, my dear. What have you been up to?”

For his part, Crowley had spent the past decade on the move. He flew freely through Heaven, Earth, and Hell. Hell’s residents still looked with awe and fear at the demon to whom the Creator had revealed more than anyone else. His survival of Gabriel’s torture had become something of a legend, the details obscured with retellings, despite Crowley’s willingness to share the truth. At least in overarching details. He was never comfortable with those who asked about his suffering with a too-intrigued look.

Heaven wouldn’t touch the demon flying under the protection of multiple Archangels. Crowley ranged between Aziraphale’s library and Raphael’s estate without anyone waylaying him. He’d gotten in far more visits with Aziraphale than originally stipulated, and he wandered down to Earth whenever he wanted to check the bookshop or order take-out.

Crowley had done a great deal of talking over the decade. Earnestly insisting to Heaven and Hell that war was unnecessary. That they’d find a better future if they put aside their differences. Amazingly, enough beings on both sides had been willing to listen that changes were occurring.

He’d been questioned everywhere he went, and not always about subjects he was eager to discuss. It was one thing in public, but when angels or demons sought him out at the bookshop, or Raphael’s estate, or the backroom of Hell’s library when he and Aziraphale were trying for some much-needed ‘alone time’, that he dreaded another round of too-personal queries. He bore it as best he could – partially because there didn’t seem to be another option, and partially because many were genuinely searching for answers. Even when he didn’t have any, he offered what solace he could.

He’d never missed a date with Aziraphale. Always arriving promptly with a take-out container from Earth and a bottle of wine. They’d enjoyed their hours together with undiminished passion and love. Gradually, the demon guards had given up trying to limit their time or curb their activities.

“Aziraphale’s sentence will conclude shortly,” Beelzebub began as they and the other demons turned to face Crowley.

Crowley tried to keep the eager grin from his face. He nodded, stilling down the unease flickering through him.

“He’s been a mostly compliant inmate,” the lord-of-the-flies continued.

“Mostly?” Crowley asked.

“Yes…” Beelzebub fumbled for a document, carefully not meeting Crowley’s eyes. “We’ve had some issues, of course. Not many… but they will require an extension to the sentence.”

“Extension…” Crowley frowned. His first instinct was anger, but he held back, studying the demons closely. Their movements were shifty. Reluctant. Lying? Or…

“Are you looking for excuses to keep him here?” 

Beelzebub flinched. “We wouldn’t extend things past what he deserves,” they muttered. “But, of course…”

“What’s this really about?”

A pause, then another demon burst out slightly helplessly. “He’s the only one who knows where anything is!”

Crowley almost laughed. He took a moment before speaking. “He does have another sentence waiting in Heaven. You might be able to get it commuted here. You could ask him if he’s willing.”

There was muttering among the demons.

“Perhaps… you could broach it with him?” Beelzebub asked.

It occurred to Crowley that the demons were more than a little afraid of Aziraphale.

 _Their own fault,_ he thought with amusement as he headed for the library. You didn’t put a principality in a territory and not expect them to get territorial. That was practically the definition of their name. 

He thought of the librarian in Heaven whom he’d seen make Archangels cower. Maybe book-lovers were their own special breed of ferocious.

“The dark council seems happy with what you’ve done with the library,” he said hours later after he and Aziraphale had gotten through their usual round of eating, drinking, catching up, and physical affection. Aziraphale was now seated on a couch, a book in hand and Crowley’s head in his lap. Crowley basked blissfully in the peace of the moment, barely willing to break it with talk about the future.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale mumbled. “Yes, dear. It’s been a pleasure. Did I tell you I’ve finally convinced all the shadow creatures to move into the restricted section? And they don’t eat anyone if they’re fed regularly. Now I just need to work on their table manners…”

Crowley smiled sleepily. “You know your sentence is almost up.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale sounded surprised. “I lost track. I mean… I’ve certainly missed Earth’s restaurants, and the ducks. I suppose all the ones who knew us are gone now…”

“The council wondered if there was a chance you wanted to stay.”

Aziraphale blinked and looked down at him. “What? Of course, I’m staying, my dear. This place _needs_ me. And now that you’ve brought me most of my books, it’s become quite homey. And if they’ll lighten up on how often you’re permitted to visit, and perhaps let me take a day off now and again on Earth, it could be quite lovely.” He paused. “If it’s alright with you, Darling.”

Crowley laughed and kissed him. “Angel, if you’ve decided to be happy in Hell, that’s great.”

Aziraphale stroked his head. “I want you to be happy too,” he said anxiously. “If there’s somewhere else you’d rather we went…”

Crowley considered the future thoughtfully. “I think I know what I want…”

*****

“What’s on your mind?” Raphael asked as he joined the demon seated on the balcony rail.

Raphael hadn’t noticed Crowley’s arrival until he’d chanced to glance out the window and spotted the demon well-immersed in the garden. Crowley seemed focused, so Raphael had left him in peace until evening. 

After ten years, he’d grown accustom to the demon who came and went from the estate. Crowley was sometimes gone for weeks or months at a time – busy elsewhere in Heaven or Hell. But he always returned eventually. 

Raphael had learned to read his friend’s moods. He generally knew when Crowley was troubled and needed a friendly ear, and when he’d rather be alone. He knew when Crowley was sitting on the ground because it was comfortable, and when he’d forgotten he didn’t belong on his knees and needed to be awakened back to the present. 

They’d talked a great deal, and Raphael had found himself opening up quite a lot to someone as steady and trustworthy as he could ever hope to find. And stepping from his shell. It had been Crowley who’d finally drawn him back to Earth, showing him places of beauty and not just pain. He'd helped steady Raphael on the days when he felt overwhelmed by all the suffering he faced. And, of course, it had been the demon nagging (and maybe doing just a _little_ tempting) about why exactly it had been _Raguel’s_ name Raphael had written when describing the mutual joining of souls. And teasing in an encouraging way until Raphael nervously found himself asking the stony-eyed justice of Heaven if she wouldn’t want to… maybe… sometime… take a walk with him? He’d heard feeding ducks was a nice pastime…

Tonight, he sensed Crowley had come for a reason. And when Crowley wasn’t forthcoming, he gently prodded.

The demon reported that he’d just come from Hell. He related Aziraphale’s desire to stay. And Heaven’s willingness to allow him to complete his sentence there.

“I think Hell’s going to lighten up on him now,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “Give him a decent room. Some vacation time to visit Earth. And they don’t seem worried about me coming and going anymore. I guess they’ve decided I’m not going to try and spring him.”

“So, you’re moving to Hell?”

Crowley shook his head. "We have eternity. No one can _really_ separate us anymore. We've always had our own lives. Someday, maybe we'll want to be together nonstop, but, for now, this feels okay."

He rested his chin on his knees. “The peace talks are going alright. They don’t really need me anymore. They haven’t needed me for a while. I’m no good at the politics stuff. And now that everybody’s on the same page with _talking_ and not assuming the other side’s planning a double-cross… I’m not sure that the war’s cancelled… but I don’t think most people think it’s urgent and imminent anymore.

“So, I’ve been thinking about what I should do now. I don’t just… Pretty much the whole time I was on Earth… I just did what I felt like doing. Didn’t worry much about anybody else. Except Aziraphale. I don’t… I can’t just ignore everything but me anymore.”

Raphael nodded.

Crowley slipped off the rail and stood solidly, and a little hesitantly, before him. “I want to do what you do. Help people. I know I can’t… heal the way you can. But the other stuff… I want to learn more of that. And how to talk people through how they’ve been hurt. Help… the way you helped me. Could… could you teach me?”

Raphael put a hand on his shoulder. “I’d be honored.”

*****

It was a funny future Heaven and Hell found themselves slipping gradually toward. Maybe the fear of war didn’t vanish immediately. Maybe trust wasn’t built overnight. Maybe thousands of years of bad blood didn’t wash away instantly. But steps were taken. Seeds were planted. And they began to sprout.

Not everything was perfect – there would always be those who couldn’t let go of hate. Yet the majority on both sides saw the value in peace. And when they tentatively reached out to the other side, they found a surprising amount in common.

Earth was largely left alone, no longer the battleground for the warring factions. Humanity followed its own destiny with less interference. And when interference did come, it was more often as a gentle nudge away from self-destruction and toward peace. From two sides who were slowly learning better.

Funny how Heaven and Hell changed. How the hell-forged blades and blessed weapons seemed better fit for the fire than to keep on hand. How pools of holy water and hellfire forges were roped off with caution signs so a visitor from Above or Below wouldn’t blunder into one accidentally. How natural it became for an angel and demon to run into one another while exploring Earth and suggest lunch, not combat. 

Aziraphale might have been the first angel to find employment in a strange neighborhood, but he wasn’t the last. Nor was Crowley the last demon to take up work some might have said was impossible for his kind. Not after he’d proved that a demon could love. 

Libraries held knowledge, and Aziraphale shared eagerly. He read to wistful groups – first of demons, but gradually of angels as well – of how Heaven had been before the Fall. Of the peace and love both sides had discarded in favor of hate. Of what it might take for Heaven and Hell to find it again.

And the healer with the serpent eyes… was it really surprising? Hadn’t the humans recognized snakes as a sign of healing long ago? One so full of love and gentleness that it transcended what others believed his kind could be. One so willing to listen to another’s pain and offer what he could. Maybe he couldn’t erase wounds with the power of an Archangel – but the longer and slower healing was his. The long days of listening and finding the source of old wounds. The healing he’d needed long before.

*****

“What are you thinking about?” Crowley asked as he leaned back against Aziraphale.

They were seated on a park bench in St. James’, spending time together on a long furlough from Heaven and Hell. 

Aziraphale was thoughtfully silent for a moment. “Do you remember – way back in the garden – you wondered which of us had made the right choice? The sword or knowledge?” He paused. “You were right. You gave the humans what they really needed.”

“Protection was a good thing, Angel,” Crowley murmured.

“I think… I looked at the world and I saw they needed to fight. To maintain their superiority. You… gave them the tool to understand the world.” He tightened his grip around the demon’s middle and held him close. “And that’s more important.”

“You give knowledge now.”

“I learned from someone very wise.”

They were silent for a time.

“What do you suppose will happen now?” Aziraphale asked. “Now that it seems like nobody plans to fight?”

“I don’t know.” Crowley arched his shoulders and burrowed more comfortably against the angel. “I don’t hear the humans talking about ‘the end is near’ so much anymore. Maybe they’ve picked up something from us.” His eyelids sank to narrow slits. “ **She** ’ll tell us when **She** ’s ready, I guess. But I think **She** ’s happier with how things are going.”

“I hope so.” Aziraphale rested his nose in Crowley’s hair. “Do you suppose we’ll be ready for whatever **She** does?”

Crowley’s hand slipped into his. “Whatever happens, we’ll be together. I think that’s enough.”

A warm breeze washed over them.

Crowley’s eyes sank closed.

Once he’d been shattered into pieces and left with nothing but degradation and fear. Time and patience had formed those fragments into something new. Some days the broken bits still hurt. Some days he wondered if he’d ever escape the memories.

But even on his worst days, he knew love. He knew trust. He knew hope.

That was what it took to find his way through the shadows and into the light.

**********

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this story to get it out of my head. I'd never written anything this dark before. I didn't write it with the intent of sharing, but the finished product seemed worth at least showing to the inspiring author, and enough people encouraged me, so here we are. 
> 
> Thank you so much to dreamsofspike for writing an amazing story, encouraging me with this project, and betaing the work. It has been lovely to work with you and get to know you. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read and left extensive comments. When I wrote _Serpent Delivery_ , it began at the absolute height of _Good Omens'_ popularity. Plenty of people leapt onto the story at the start, but most of them drifted away from the fandom over the course of the summer. The readers I ended with were mostly not the same as those I began with. This time, I met fans who were in for the long-haul. Who'd developed an affinity for this fandom and story already. A lot of you began on day one, and you're still here. Thank you for reading. You've had amazing insights and I've loved hearing them.
> 
> Writing-wise, I had one last GO fic in mind, but it would have featured Raphael prominently again, and that's a character I'm just not comfortable writing right now. So I've been playing with another idea - mostly an excuse to write some of the less-used GO characters and actually write about Armageddon for once. (How have I written three novel-length fics and none of them take place anywhere near Armageddon?) I don't know if that one will end up being posted, but, it probably will. I have a lot of time on my hands.
> 
> Although I've finished writing for this particular universe, I think you'll still see more works from the _Repossession_ fandom. I know there are two other AUs in the works, and I'm excited to see where other authors go.
> 
> If anyone wants to play with the characters and AU created here, feel free. This has become a large sandbox that I've loved seeing what everyone builds.
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who read along. Wherever you are in the world - stay safe, stay healthy! And keep creating! We need stories to get us through these tough times.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Reparations: Supplemental](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28317054) by [Dacelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dacelin/pseuds/Dacelin)




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